


An Omega's Shadow

by Sinning_Satan (Inactive_Account)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Barebacking, Blood and Injury, Confrontations, Dark Lance (Voltron), Emotional Support, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Rape Recovery, Sexual Violence, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2018-12-13 16:12:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11763573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inactive_Account/pseuds/Sinning_Satan
Summary: Keith was like no other omega.It was a trait desired by many, but envied by Lance. He lived life never quite as good as those around him; always second in his class, always youngest in his family, and always desperate to prove himself as an alpha. The anger that Keith inspired was beyond words. This omega was better than him in every way, and - unlike most omegas - was unafraid to speak his mind and allow others to boast about his achievements. Lance couldn't be lesser than an omega. It was too much an insult.He and Keith were a couple. They argued, bickered, and Keith never quite understood. Lance was so afraid of losing him to another alpha, perhaps one just like Shiro, and Keith - an omega so unlike other omegas - would give in and leave him. No. Lance needed to put him in his place; he would take Keith, possess Keith, and own Keith.It would begin with consummation, whether wanted or not.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter One contains graphic rape.
> 
> Chapter Two onwards does not have any acts of rape.

Lance waited.

The bedroom was bare and barren, with only the basic bed tucked within that alcove and a change of clothes draped over a stray chair, and Lance hated how there was a total lack of individuality about the small space. It was as if Keith lacked any sense of personhood. Pidge would load her room with books and technical items, while Hunk posted photographs over every last surface, and yet in here . . . emptiness. Nothing. It was hostile.

There was a faint scent of sweat in the air. Lance wondered whether Keith was in pre-heat; too few nights were spent together, never anything more than a few curt words or short conversations, and yet he knew how Keith longed for him. Keith longed for human contact. It was a valuable source of power . . . ‘ _I thought we had a bonding moment’ . . ._ Lance smiled at the memory, even as his hands clenched into tight fists. The rage was real, as his heart raced and his mouth ran dry, but the desire was equally as strong. He hated. He loved.

The door opened, as Keith walked inside. There was a sheen of sweat over his body, likely from an intense training session with Shiro, and there – _again_ – was the familiar stabbing sensation in his abdomen, as Lance jumped to his feet and tried to ignore his racing heart. He narrowed blue eyes and glared at Keith, who was dressed only in a black t-shirt and black pants, and the door closed behind Keith with a familiar ‘swoosh’. Lance spat out:

“Are you fucking him?”

Keith blinked a few times. He looked over Lance – dressed only in a dressing gown, with familiar pyjama bottoms and slippers – and rolled his eyes at the sight of him. Lance bristled. He straightened his back and puffed out his chest, while he drew in a deep breath, and his eyes narrowed so much that pain struck the sides of his cheeks from pressure, yet somehow he maintained his gaze and stood his ground. Lance folded his arms, as the rush of blood pervaded his ears and a spark of arousal came despite his frustrations.

He looked Keith over, seeing a man so fiercely independent and yet claiming to want something deeper with Lance, and it was a hard concept to reconcile. Lance was the alpha. Lance was the sharpshooter. Lance wanted _so much_ to prove him, to be the stronger of the two and prove that he wasn’t defective as an alpha, and yet the very omega that claimed to love him was the same omega that refused to submit. Keith couldn’t make a sacrifice.

“Hey!” Lance spat. “I asked you a question, Mullet-Head.”

“I’m not dignifying it with an answer.”

“Look, I’m not blind,” said Lance with a cold voice. “You’re always been the favourite. Why? Is it like . . . just ‘cause you get the best grades and stuff? The worst mistake they ever made was letting omegas into further education. You’re _way_ too arrogant to be a part of a team, but – sure – let’s just give you all these privileges ‘cause you can get knocked up.”

“Ever think I have to work twice as hard to _prove_ myself equal to any alpha? You just get your whole life handed to you on a silver platter, but I had to _fight_ every step of the way, and – even then – it wasn’t enough. The second I broke down . . . the second I started grieving because I’d lost my closest friend for unknown reasons . . . they dismissed me as a hormonal omega that was unable to cope and expelled me over ‘disciplinary issues’.”

“Oh, what do you want a medal?”

“No. I want some recognition.” Keith sighed. “Shiro respects me because I work as hard as I possibly can work, right up until breaking point and beyond. I train. I study. I focus. I have listened to every command he’s ever issued, and I’ve even provided him a challenge on occasion, and that’s why I respect him. I’m not just an omega to him.”

Lance breathed deeply, as crescent shape cuts appeared on his palms, and – as he looked to the other teenager – he saw a young man greatly desired . . . available . . . equal to even the strongest alpha upon the ship. It was wrong. It went against nature for an omega to be so physically and mentally independent, but it also meant there was a threat . . . if left alone, Shiro would claim Keith, because who wouldn’t want such a rarity? Lance swallowed back his emotion, as he realised he was just average among alphas. Why would Keith want him?

“He doesn’t see you as an equal,” pleaded Lance. “He can’t.”

Keith flinched. It was almost imperceptible, but Lance bit his lip until he tasted blood. He saw the look of hurt and betrayal barely hidden behind a stoic façade, enough to send shards of guilt through his flesh, but he also remembered growing up as the youngest alpha among alphas . . . _‘he’s kind of the runt of the pack’, ‘we should set him up with a beta’, ‘I do feel bad for him being so small and slight’_ . . . he deserved something to call his own.

Lance looked Keith over. He knew that his family – for all their good intentions – never believed him capable of having an omega like Keith, but he also knew the double-edged sword that would come from having such a strong and rebellious omega. They would mock his abilities of an alpha, tease him about ‘who wears the pants’ in their relationship, and he would be told to ‘get a hold’ of his omega, but Keith seemed oblivious to this, already with eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The older teenager spat back:

“Why not? Just because I’m an omega?”

“Look, _I’m_ the alpha!” Lance shouted. “I’m supposed to be the protector! If you have to go around saving me in battle, like today, it shows _me_ up and makes me look like I can’t provide for _you_.” Lance paused to growl out a primal sound. “Why _is_ he providing for you? Why’s he making concessions for you? What does _he_ get from it?”

“It sure as hell isn’t _sex_ ,” yelled Keith. “Shiro is like a brother to me! He looked after me when no one else cared. He provided a shoulder to cry on. He was everything you _couldn’t_ be to me, or – let’s be honest – _won’t_ be . . . it doesn’t mean I’m cheating on you, though.”

“Yeah, you claim to love me, but –”

“I do love you, Lance.”

Keith sighed and walked over to the bed. He sat on the edge, where he pulled off shoes and socks with lazy gestures, and – throughout the whole thing – he kept his head low and refused to make eye contact with Lance. The familiar blade and belt with also removed, as Keith piled the few items together and walked over to the nearby desk to pile his few possessions together in a safe manner. He paused. A closed fist thumped on the desktop a handful of times, until he spun around and braced himself against its edge. Keith admitted:

“I just . . . I struggle to say the words.”

“Because you love him more?”

“No, because I just feel uncomfortable with emotion.” Keith shrugged. “I like how passionate you are, Lance. I like how much you fight to do better and be better. I also like your loyalty and your kindness and your expressiveness, but . . . I guess I need a commitment. Shiro wants to settle down and start a family, something I never really had, and I – I know what he’s willing to offer, but what about _us_? Where is this even going?”

“Great, so now you’re giving me an ultimatum? I _knew_ he was looking to make you his! I knew it! So you’re basically telling me that he could have you any time and anywhere, is that it? So you’re fucking him, after all? I’m supposed to be the one with the power here! If anything, it should be me and Shiro fighting it out, not _you_ that gets to –”

“Gets to what? Make a decision about my entire future?”

“Yes! You’re _my_ omega, Keith. Mine!”

The words spewed out without control. Lance regretted them the moment they were uttered, unable to pull them back in and unable to pretend they weren’t said, and – as he looked to Keith with wide eyes and pale face – the older teenager observed him with a half-open mouth and raised eyebrows. Keith stepped forward. Lance slumped his shoulders and licked at his lips, as he scratched at the back of his neck, and he listened to how the omega breathed heavily with small hisses through flared nostrils. Keith said in a low voice:

“Wow. I’m _yours_ now?”

Keith rolled his eyes and shook his head. He turned and moved toward the main doors, which always seemed perpetually unlocked, and – as they slid open and revealed the hallway beyond – Lance saw the darkness lit only by low-lighting strips upon the walls. Shiro’s room was the second-biggest room after Allura’s, complete with a double bed, and Lance could picture Keith lying on those sheets, basked in an afterglow. He swallowed back his rage.

“Whatever, Lance,” said Keith. “Call me when this century catches up with you.”

The anger boiled up inside him . . . _Keith would lie on black sheets, while Shiro would tower over him drenched in sweat, and they would laugh together and talk together and kiss on another, until they fell into a blissful sleep_ . . . Lance spent a lifetime sharing with younger nieces and nephews, but he didn’t want to share Keith. Keith was his omega. He was the one good thing in Lance’s life. He gave Lance meaning in their rivalry, something to aspire toward and a goal with which to aim, and he wanted Keith. He wanted him.

Lance saw Keith step away . . . one step, two step, three step . . . panic overcame him. He was so close to losing the only treasure he possessed, so close to being another second-rate alpha, and – as adrenaline coursed through him, like cold water slowly doused over hot skin, he threw out his hand and grasped Keith’s bare upper arm with sheer strength. Keith jumped. He tried to pull away, loathing skin-on-skin contact, but Lance yanked him back.

Keith stumbled inside, as the doors automatically closed shut. He looked shocked, frustrated, and maybe even afraid . . . Lance heard little over his racing heart, while his vision blurred with thousands of small stars, and his body felt light and weak. Keith sneered at him and tried to storm past him, but Lance’s hand acted without rhyme or reason. He struck out. The back of his hand collided with Keith’s face, as knuckles bruised those high cheekbones, and Keith swore as he looked to Lance with an eye already half-red and swollen.

“No,” said Lance. “No, you don’t get to walk away from me.”

They struggled. Lance saw red, his body acting of its own accord, while hands fumbled and stretched and fought to get at his omega, but that same omega strove to get away from him with such desperation that a mild protest soon became much more. It was difficult to pinpoint when a few shoves became a barrage of punches and kicks, even more to say who attacked whom, but Lance grabbed at Keith’s shoulders and threw him onto the cold floor.

Keith screamed out, struggling to crawl on all fours. Lance growled and knelt over him, a leg on either side of that slim waist, and – desperate to shut up his partner – dug his fingers into those thick locks of black hair and slammed down his head. There was a horrendous crunch, before Keith’s body fell somewhat limp. The omega groaned and lightly moved his fingers, as if clawing to consciousness, and dropped his head onto the side only to reveal a bloody and broken nose. He coughed and spat out blood, but his teeth appeared fine.

“You’re not better than me now, are you?”

Lance quickly made work of Keith’s trousers. He yanked them down just enough to expose firm buttocks, almost perfect globes of white flesh, and his mouth watered at the sight of untouched and unmarked cheeks. Lance ran his hands over them, enjoying how impossibly soft they were to the touch. He wanted to bite them. He wanted to make them his. Lance pulled apart the cheeks and looked down at the hole before him.

“It’s almost like he hasn’t fucked you,” murmured Lance.

“D-Don’t – Don’t touch me. I – I don’t –”

A callused finger traced a pattern over his hole. Keith mewled and strove to pull away, using all his strength, until Lance growled out and marched across the room to the desk. He snatched up the belt from the top of the pile. Keith looked up with blown pupils, where he blinked rapidly and paled in the face, but – as he tried to climb to his feet – Lance struck down the belt across his back, knocking him back onto the floor. Keith cried out.

Lance lost count of how often he struck that back. He stopped only when the black t-shirt was ripped to shreds, clinging to the flesh of Keith with a sickening amount of blood, and he noticed smears of blood down Keith’s bare arms and the floor around him. There was slow and laboured breathing from Keith, who closed his eyes and pursed his lips. Tears stained his cheeks. Lance swallowed hard; it physically hurt his throat, as he tried to hold back tears in turn, but he tied Keith’s hands together at the wrists with the belt. He tightened the leather.

“You – You made me do this, Keith.”

“S-Stop. Stop it, Lance. Stop –”

“I – I just want to be close to you.” Lance sniffed and wiped at his eyes. “Why do you always have to show me up? Why do you always have to be the best? I – I hate you, but I can’t help but want you, only . . . you make it _so damned hard_! Look, you wouldn’t even fucking submit. I had to beat you. You wouldn’t even fucking submit! You did this. You!”

“You can . . . You can s-still get me to the healing pods.” Keith slurred his words and opened one eye. The other eye was swollen shut. “Don’t – Don’t rape me. Don’t make this my first time. I – I’m not on any contraception. I’m not . . . I’m not ready . . . don’t.”

“Shut up. _Shut up, shut up, shut up_!”

Tears streamed down Lance’s face. He struggled to open his dressing gown and free his erection, as his hands shook and his eyes blurred with tears, and yet he looked down to see Keith prone upon the floor and knew there was no other chance. Keith would never want a guy like Lance, not really, and he would always be at constant competition with Shiro, but he also couldn’t bear to see Keith hurt, not when they were on the same team. He wanted him to feel good . . . feel pleasure . . . but he hated him. He hated him.

“You – You asked for this.”

Lance took a hold of his length; it was an impressive size even for an alpha, with a flared head and intact foreskin, and – while long enough to guarantee prostate stimulation – just thin enough to prevent any pain from being stretched too wide. He jerked himself a couple of times, until pre-come streamed down over the soft outer flesh, and he curled his lips at how sticky the liquid made his palms. Lance let out a choked and shuddered sob.

This would hurt Keith. He knew that the damage done would push Keith away, but at least the eventual abandonment and rejection would be on _his_ terms . . . at least he was in control for just _once_ in his life . . . Keith would leave him, but at least Lance would get something from him before that point. He would know what it was like to be intimate. He would know Keith in a way no one else knew him. It would hurt, but Keith was the one who belittled him . . . bullied him . . . Lance wanted to stop, but he wanted more. It was too confusing . . .

“I’ll make you mine,” promised Lance.

He pushed inside to the hilt. Keith screamed. The sound was so loud that it hurt Lance’s ears; he winced and swore, too overwhelmed by the extreme pressure on his member, and already throbbing inside from severe arousal as the heat and soft touch. A primal panic overcame him, as he listened to Keith cry and saw him claw at his bonds. There were marks upon the white tiles. Blood. A nail ripped off from the root, torn from previous fights. Keith shook his head and mumbled incoherently through his pain. Lance grew nauseous. Sick.

It was so hot being inside Keith . . . there was moisture, but not what he expected from arousal . . . he didn’t pick up the sweetness of an omega scent. Iron. It was an iron smell, while far too hot, and he knew that Keith was bleeding from the inside. Lance winced and swallowed back the acid and food in the back of his mouth, while he slowly thrust long and hard deep inside the man who infuriated him and inspired him. An omega in his place.

The belt dug into Keith’s wrists, where blood bubbled and bruises formed. Lance groaned, no longer hearing the sobs and cries and gasps, but he did hear someone knock the door from without . . . Shiro . . . he cursed, before he braced himself on one hand and gagged Keith with his other. The omega tried to bite him, teeth sinking into flesh, but Lance thrust extra hard and bit hard enough on his earlobe to break through flesh. Blood trailed down his jawbone and dripped onto the floor, while Lance grew closer and closer to orgasm.

“Lie to him,” whispered Lance. “Tell him you’re fine.”

“N-No. No . . . you – you need t-to stop.”

“Tell him or I’ll mate you.” Lance thrust harder. “I’ll bite your neck. I’ll break the skin. I’ll spit on the wound. You’ll be bound to me forever; every time you get a heat, only I’ll be able to sate it, and you won’t ever be able to marry Shiro or anyone else. Get rid of him.”

The door was unlocked. It would only take Shiro to open the door, just a split second, and he would find Keith a bloody mess being taken by Lance, but – even as the adrenaline soared through Lance, as his heart raced and vision blurred – the doors stayed shut. Lance thrust deep and hard, until the only sounds were the slapping of balls on buttocks, and there was also a wet sound and a wet sensation, blood stained his crotch and dripped between Keith’s legs onto the tiles. Keith sobbed and cried out in a strong voice:

“I – I’m good, Shiro. Just need some private time!”

‘Ah,’ laughed Shiro. ‘I understand’

Lance waited to hear Shiro’s footsteps fade away. He likely thought Keith was jacking off, spending time ‘alone’ to let out some stress, and he probably didn’t suspect in the least that the slapping sounds – the cries, the moans – were all forced on him by another. Lance licked his lips, as the pleasure built and built, until he was thrusting with great speed in and out of that broken body, and he knew what he wanted. He wanted an omega. He wanted to finally be stronger, just once . . . just once to be in charge . . . he bit down.

He only realised he was marking Keith too late. He opened his mouth over that long column of neck, with teeth sharp and tearing into flesh, and his tongue came out to interfere with the wound and spread about his saliva over the scent gland. They would now be synchronised in rut and heat, only sated by one another during the worst, and neither would ever be allowed to marry another man except for them. Lance tasted blood. He moaned.

“W-Why?” Keith wept. “Why?”

Lance continued to thrust. There was pressure at the base of his penis, which built and built with his approaching climax, and he panted around the wound on Keith’s neck, until he pushed in to the hilt and held position. The inner walls clenched around him. The knot expanded until it locked them together. Lance – as the pleasure reached its crescendo – came long and hard deep inside the man he so desired. It was sheer perfection.

His vision went white, as he arched his back and threw open his mouth, and – as toes curls and hands fisted – his stomach muscles clenched with each rope of come that was shot within the man below him. The dressing gown and pyjama bottoms clung to his skin with sweat, while his body grew weak and his mind light-headed, and soon waves of pleasure overcame him and he finally felt sated and comfortable. Keith was his omega. He finally asserted dominance and took control, and he felt . . . real . . . validated . . . justified.

Lance collapsed down onto Keith; he waited for his knot to deflate, as he gasped for breath and the blood from the omega’s back soaked into his gown, but it was difficult to get comfortable with those bound hands caught between them. The mating mark on Keith’s neck was visible and brutal, while tears left streaks through blood and grime. Lance reached out to comfort him, but Keith flinched. He pulled back. His hand shook.

“F-Fuck,” whispered Lance. “Fuck!”

Keith was barely conscious. The realisation of reality finally dawned on Lance, as the rage subsided to make room for his afterglow, and the beating of his heart quickened in time of his guilt, but he couldn’t undo what was done. There was a spark of pride at having quelled such a feisty omega, finally owning something to call his and his alone, but devastation at having brutalised Keith and forced him into a situation beyond his control. The trust was gone. The love was erased. There was nothing between them, except a bond neither wanted.

“Fuck,” cried Lance. “I’m so sorry. I just –”

The only sounds were Keith’s cries.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“What’s the damage?”

Shiro pressed his hand to the glass. He looked with watery eyes inside; Keith wore a white body suit especially designed for the healing pods, which clung to his body and provided a heavy contrast to his usual dark style of attire. The stark white made his skin look all the more pale. Even his lips were drained of colour. He was so close, yet so far, and – as Shiro pressed ever harder upon the glass – he clenched his eyes shut and drew in a staggered breath.

It was difficult to comprehend that level of violence. Keith – even with eyes shut, lost in an induced sleep – still bore a furrowed brow and pursed lips, while his muscles looked tensed and a little hunched, as if he were trying to burrow into himself even while unconscious, so afraid and so vulnerable. Shiro wanted to hold him. He wanted to tell him that everything would be fine, but Keith was lost beyond the glass and in a world of his own. Only Keith could fight away those nightmares. Shiro was helpless to protect him.

“It’s quite severe, lad,” whispered Coran.

The older man stepped beside Shiro, still dressed in Altean sleeping wear. It brought a faint smile to Shiro’s lips to see that red hair mussed, while the dressing gown was off-centre with one sleeve halfway down his arm, and there were even smudges of a facial mask – borrowed from Lance, adored by Coran – still staining his cheeks and forehead. He was wrested from sleep, torn away from his shared room with Allura, and dragged to the healing pods with very little explanation until Keith’s prone form was revealed to him. Coran had cried on sight.

“How severe?” Shiro begged. “I need to know.”

“There were deep lacerations and welts to his back,” said Coran in a low voice. “It looks like he’s been whipped something brutal. We also found friction burns and cuts on his wrists, along with bruises on his hips and chest. He endured a shattered cheekbone, a small haemorrhage in his eye, and a broken nose. There – ah – was . . . more . . .”

“Please, don’t tell me he was raped.” Shiro blinked away tears. “Katie said she found him with his pants pulled low, with blood and what looked like come on his behind, but . . . she’s so young and it’s possible she was mistaken, right? It – It can’t be . . . he can’t –”

“I’m so sorry, Shiro. There was substantial semen found within him, which we’ve collected for evidence alongside records of his injuries and the clothing he wore at the time, but there is some extensive bruising and internal tearing to the rectum. I – I think we can _also_ be relatively sure he didn’t tie up his own hands, eh? There’s . . . There’s also the bond-mark upon his neck, which can’t be ignored. It’s . . . well . . . it’s bad.”

Shiro turned his hand on the glass. He clenched it into a tight fist, as he pressed his forehead to the glass and closed his eyes shut, and – as specks of light flickered in his vision, borne from the pressure behind his eyelids – he choked back a small cry and allowed a tear to run down his scarred cheek. The memories of pain . . . trauma . . . flickered through his mind, forcing him to relive the worst moments of his life . . . ‘ _do not worry about saving his arm, just replace the wretched thing’ . . . ‘watch him bleed, his blood is so red’ . . ._

He was the leader. He was the eldest. Shiro always watched out for his younger friend, even as they grew up together and studied together, and – upon graduating – he made a promise to Keith to always protect him. He failed him. Keith would be scarred physically from his ordeal, but worse would be the emotional wounds. Shiro knew the pain of lying away at night, or enduring the night terrors, or the horror of the flashbacks. He knew.

“Who did this, Coran?” Shiro asked. “Who?”

Coran placed a hand on Shiro’s shoulder. He squeezed just enough to provide a reassuring pressure, one that grounded Shiro and centred him in reality, and – as he drew in a staggered breath – he turned to look at his older friend and saw how much this revelation hurt him. It was difficult to miss the flush to his cheeks or the tremble to his lips, and Coran bore the trails of many tears that lost their way amidst his moustache.

The infirmary was dark, cast in a low lighting for the night. It made it difficult to focus, especially so distracted and unable to leave Keith alone, and both men showed signs of exhaustion and absolute stress. There were bags beneath their eyes, while they moved with slow and sluggish movements, and Coran – as he yawned despite himself – fiddled around in search of a portable tablet. He lifted the machine and held it before Shiro with a trembling hand, as he flicked through to show surveillance footage.

“I can tell you who it _wasn’t_ ,” said Coran.

“Fine, then start there.”

“We didn’t – until _now_ – keep cameras in the hallways to the private quarters.” Coran winced and forced a smile. “We – ah – tried to respect the Paladins’ privacy, you see. It means we can see who went in and out of that area, but not which rooms they went into or when, but Number Five is onto that! She’s putting cameras up as we speak.”

“Okay, so what does the security footage tell us?”

“It tells us that Allura and myself were in our bedroom at the time. It’s virtually impossible for us to have committed the crime, particularly when we were a _teeny_ bit otherwise engaged, so we _do_ also have the alibi situation going for us. We know that Pidge is innocent, as she is but a beta and also was in the laboratory all evening, and we also know that you were innocent, as you can see the time-stamps here when you entered and left.”

“I – I left training early to see if Keith wanted to get something to eat,” said Shiro in a low voice. “I heard noises in his room . . . cries, something like skin-on-skin, and I guess I just thought that – you know – he was enjoying some alone time. I even thought maybe he and Lance were consummating their relationship, but . . . _fuck_! Fuck it to hell!”

“You didn’t know, Shiro. You didn’t know.”

“If – If I’d just gone into his room, I’d have been able to stop it!” Shiro slammed his fist on the glass. “The doors are never locked. _Never_! I just wanted to give him some privacy, didn’t even think he could be attacked or worse, and I – I just . . . I fucking walked away! How can I ever forgive myself for that? I walked away and he _needed_ me!”

Shiro looked to the tablet. There were two windows open; one showed Shiro entering the corridor to the private quarters, while the other showed him leaving just four minutes later, and the one where he left . . . leaving Keith to his rape . . . showed him smiling and shaking his head, totally oblivious to the horrors that went on beyond. Shiro bit his lip until he tasted blood; his heart pounded loudly within his ears, as his blood ran cold, and he wanted nothing more to smash that screen. He wanted to break something. He wanted to scream.

“So that just leaves Hunk and Lance?” Shiro asked.

“Allura is currently sitting with them in the lounge.” Coran winced. “I was a wee bit miffed with that suggestion, but our Allura is a most excellent combatant. Pidge is also watching them through the cameras, as she installs surveillance into the private quarters, so there is absolutely minimal danger. I still hold hope that maybe we have an intruder, but there’s no evidence at all of an intruder within the castle. Even if there were –”

“The Galra have no alphas or omegas in their race, right?” Shiro drew in a deep breath. “The Galra are a race made only of men, with the few women being hybrids, and – even if you and Allura were somehow threats – your race have only men and women. The only two alpha men onboard that could do this are . . . Hunk and Lance.”

“Aye, which is a terrifying thought to consider. You can understand why I’d like to hold hope until we get Keith’s account, because . . . well . . . I have not known such a betrayal such Zarkon and his rift with the original Paladins. It’s simply too horrible.”

“If one of them did it, don’t let me near them. Please.”

“You think you would harm them?”

“I _know_ I would harm them.”

Shiro banged again on the glass. He stepped back, only to look Keith over, and – as he fought back an array of tears – he dropped his hands by his sides into tight fists. The urge to lash out was strong, enough so that he wanted to tear whomever hurt Keith limb from limb, but he knew that what he wanted wasn’t so much justice, but . . . revenge. A rush of adrenaline coursed through him, as his mouth ran dry, and he struggled to breathe.

The glass opened to the healing pod. Shiro reacted on sheer instinct; Keith fell forward, still too weak to fully support himself on his own two feet, and Shiro raced towards him to embrace him and wrap his arms tightly around him. It was good to hold him. He was real in the flesh and blood, something solid and within reach, and – unable to hold back his emotion – Shiro wept and whispered over and over two simple words: ‘I’m sorry’. He buried his head into the crook of Keith’s neck, pressing his lips to that forced bond mark.

Keith came alive almost at once; he cried out and fought back, pushing with the palms of his hands against that chiselled chest, and Shiro – panicked and unsure how to act – pulled back and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. Keith stumbled back against the pod. He looked around with wide eyes and paled face, as he hyperventilated and blinked rapidly, but soon his eyes fell upon Shiro and Coran, before he heaved a sigh of relief.

“S-Shiro?” Keith murmured.

A flicker of recognition crossed his face. Shiro swallowed hard the urge to grab him and hold him, as he sure as well a spark of fear, and instead reached out halfway with arms apart, inviting Keith to come to him should he feel the urge. The pause broke his heart. He could barely hold back the urge to shed blood from whoever hurt Keith, but then – with tears in his eyes – Keith ran to him and embraced him as if nothing were amiss. Shiro held him close and wept, while Coran sniffed from close by and patted Keith on his shoulder.

“Oh, thank God,” cried Shiro.

“He – He’s not here, is he?” Keith sobbed. “Please, don’t let him be here.”

“It’s just us, old chap,” said Coran with a forced smile. “It’s just Coran and Shiro. You’re here. You’re safe. The doors are locked from the inside; so you can get out, but no one can get inside without your consent, and Hunk and Lance are both under supervision in the other side of the castle. They _cannot_ get to you, I swear. They cannot hurt you.”

“Katie’s putting cameras in the corridor to the private quarters. There’ll be locks on the doors, too, so no one – _no one_ – will be able to do this to you again. Coran and Katie are testing the DNA as we speak, but it could be another hour. If you don’t want to tell us –”

“Am I pregnant?” Keith asked in a quiet voice.

Shiro froze. He kept Keith held close against him, but Coran’s hand slid away with a reluctant resignation, until he stepped away and gave the two men some space. Shiro glanced to him to see him hugging himself and looking away, as if afraid of what would come next, and – out of instinct alone – Shiro struggled not to grasp too tightly on Keith. Coran walked about the room. The only sounds that followed were the soft footsteps of padded slippers, as well as the clatter of various objects, until he said in a quiet voice:

“You need to swallow this, my boy.”

Coran came beside them with a small tray in hand, on which sat a small tumbler of water and a tiny plate that held only one tablet, and Keith – as he sniffed and sobbed – struggled to turn his head and look in the direction of their friend. He reached out with a trembling and shaking hand, still ever held by Shiro, and took the pill in his hand and turned it to view it upon his palm. He furrowed his brow and struggled to speak through his pain.

“What is it?” Keith asked.

“It’s what you Earthlings call a ‘morning after pill’,” said Coran.

“So – So I’m pregnant? I can’t – I don’t want –”

The momentary quiet was broken by choked sobs. Keith clasped the pill in his hand, but his closed fist fell to his side, and suddenly Shiro supported his entire weight, as he broke completely against the other man. Shiro fought back tears and ran a hand through Keith’s hair, desperate to calm him in whatever way he could manage, but still the tears ran and Coran’s lip trembled even as he held the tray up for Keith. The tumbler of water vibrated with the barely present restraint shown by Coran. They were all at breaking point.

“It’s just a precaution,” promised Shiro.

“Indeed,” assured Coran. “I looked into Earthling biology, it _seems_ that the chances of you being pregnant outside of a heat are a thousand-to-one! Now, I’m going to ask you to take this pill and stay close to the bathroom. It will cause some mild bleeding and stomach cramps, but I _promise_ you that will end within a few hours.”

“There’s a pill you have to take after that.” Shiro rubbed circles on Keith’s back. “You will need to take it once a day for fives days, but – after that – you should be guaranteed to not be pregnant and it won’t affect your fertility. It’s completely safe.”

“We don’t want to overwhelm you with information, but it’s _vital_ we get you to take this medicine as soon as possible, Keith. You’ve been in the healing pod for twelve hours, after forty-eight hours the pill won’t take affect and you’d need to have what we term an abortion, and the longer we leave the matter then the more difficult it is for the pill to work. Your body is perfectly fine otherwise; minimum scarring, no permanent damage.”

“I – I just have to take a pill?” Keith asked. “That’s it.”

“That’s it. We’ll be right here with you.”

A shuddered gasp escaped Keith’s lips, but – with little hesitation – he threw the pill into his mouth and swallowed dry, before snatching the tumbler and downing the contents. He slammed the glass back on the tray, before he pushed away from Shiro. Keith wavered where he stood. Shiro reached out to place a hand on his upper back, as he sought to provide some balance and keep him from falling, and Keith smiled in response almost as if there wasn’t a great deal of trauma and heartbreak between them.

“I – I want to take a shower,” murmured Keith.

“It’s just through there,” said Coran.

Shiro moved to object, but Coran raised a hand to silence him. The older man fiddled about with the tray and some paperwork, while Keith sluggishly wandered over to the bathroom, already stumbling on his feet and tripping a handful of times. Shiro reached out – hand hanging midair in a desperate attempt to reach out – but Coran took his hand and shook his head, while Keith fell through the bathroom door and slammed it shut behind him.

The two men stood staring after the door. It took a while for Coran to heave a sigh; he soon busied himself by tidying the infirmary and dusting the healing pods, as if the busywork could distract himself from the situation at hand, but Shiro needed to _do_ something. He needed to feel like he was making things better somehow. He strode across the room and stood before the bathroom door, where he resisted the urge to knock and ask if Keith needed anything, and soon the sound of running water filled the room.

Shiro bit his lip and closed his eyes. He exhaled a breath that he hadn’t realised had been held, before he strode across the room to where Coran stood yawning before a control panel, and – as he clapped a hand on the redhead’s shoulder – the older man jumped and uttered a loud ‘quiznak’. Shiro smiled despite himself and gazed on the Altean characters upon the holographic screen, as he focussed intently and asked in a firm voice:

“Why are the DNA results taking so long, Coran?”

“Even Altean technology takes time.”

“Yeah, but in the meantime his fucking _rapist_ is walking free.” Shiro drew in a hissed breath and swallowed hard. “Do you think we should ask him who hurt him? I don’t know what the best thing is in this situation; I want to push him to talk about it, but I don’t want to make his trauma any worse. I – I don’t know what to _do_ to make it better!”

“Right now, I’m more worried about what he could do to himself.” Coran scratched his neck with a yawn. “I removed the lock from the bathroom door, as well as removed all medicines and blades, but we ought to keep a close ear out and check in on him.”

“Do you think he’d seriously hurt himself?”

“We can’t take that chance.”

Shiro paled and grew weak. There were vague memories of the Garrison days . . . Keith striving to prove himself in all areas, Keith averse to touch and liking his space, Keith so uncomfortable with expressing his emotions . . . Shiro thought so much was simply an extension of his autism, but – in the light of trauma – a terrifying part of him feared more than anything it would manifest as depression. He wondered whether Keith’s reaction was normal . . . to immediately go wash, to say nothing . . . Shiro said quietly:

“We need to know who did this to him.”

“If we take what you heard and place it alongside when Pidge found him -?” Coran furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. “We likely found him an hour after his attack. He’s been asleep for twelve hours, which – coincidentally – is the amount of time we’ve been awake since being forced out of bed. Our priority was supervising the healing process, collecting evidence, and placing proper security into the appropriate places, so –”

“So you’ve not been chasing up the DNA? I don’t know much about Altean technology, but do you think that it would go faster if you didn’t let the computer do all the work? I _need_ to know, Coran, especially if we have someone on board that could be a threat to the others. I already fucked up by letting this happen to Keith, but I won’t let it happen to anyone else.”

“Well, I could take a teensy look now Keith is awake.”

“I – I don’t know how someone could do this to him! We’re alphas, yeah, but we aren’t monsters. I’ve had a rut every six months since I turned thirteen, but – even at the absolute worst – I _never_ forced myself on anyone . . . even the known cases of rape rarely come with beatings like that, _never_ with forced bonding marks, either. Never.”

Coran hummed and brought up various photographs. The bloody wounds on Keith’s back brought bile to the back of Shiro’s mouth, as he turned away to avoid looking at the damage done to his closest friend and love, but – as he looked away – the memory lingered and the anger boiled. He remembered torture at the hands of Galra, something that Hunk and Lance knew well, and yet one of them chose to inflict that same pain on Keith. He turned back around with watering eyes, only to see a photograph of the scar upon his neck. Coran asked:

“Those bonding marks . . .?”

“The person bitten endures some chemical changes,” whispered Shiro. “In the olden days, if one partner bit another . . . we forced the other to be bitten in turn. They would be married. It didn’t matter how abusive the relationship became, even if it was founded on rape, you belonged to one another and you were forced to stay together. A family could bankrupt an alpha that marked an omega without consent, as recompense was expected.

“Your scent changes from ‘available’ to ‘taken’. You can only be sated in your heats or ruts by your bonded partner, so Keith is going to be in for one hell of a time . . . by law, you still can’t marry anyone other than your bonded should you bond. If – If Keith were to fall for someone else, he could mate them but they couldn’t mate him. . .

“If we were a couple, for example, I could be sated in my ruts by him and still impregnate him, but I just couldn’t marry him and have those same rights . . . I also couldn’t sate him during his heat, and our ruts and heats would _never_ sync up. Keith and his rapist will have synced heats and ruts, though, if they stay in physical contact or close enough to catch each others’ scents, and – and that’s pretty traumatic in itself. Why would they bite him? Why?”

“Are you sure they had a clear mind?” Coran asked.

“Positive,” said Shiro in a cold voice. “There’s only been three cases of forced bonding within the past two decades in our state alone; it’s considered something sacrosanct, so bad that even child abusers tend to get a better deal in our prisons, and two of those three criminals were killed before they even got to court without any recompense on their killers. It can overwhelm you . . . the ruts . . . but they don’t control you. They just don’t.”

Coran hummed in thought, as he yawned one more time. The long night awake was finally getting to the two men, especially when the bulk of medical treatment fell upon them, and he wondered whether the others – sans Pidge – slept at all once Keith’s body was discovered. He listened as Coran tapped at the screens in a rhythmic pattern, while he slid down onto the floor and leaned back upon a healing pod, allowing his eyes to close. A strange sense of peace and conflict merged in his chest, as sleep encroached upon his mind.

“Ah, I need you to stay calm,” whispered Coran.

Shiro jerked awake, unaware he had even fallen asleep. He ran a callused hand over his face, as he shook his head and yawned in exhaustion, and – as he cricked his neck – he stood up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The screen was impossibly bright in the low light of the early morning, until Shiro realised that it could be evening, and he cursed himself for having lost track of time. He looked to the screen and coldness overcame him:

“Is that Lance?”

There was a clear image of Lance upon the screen. It was one of the photographs taken of them upon becoming Paladins, a part of Coran’s detailed records, and underneath was a list of personal details that chronicled his life and history, with the image of the two DNA samples to the side of his photograph. The one window on top was the sample taken from Keith’s body, while the other was the one willingly provided by Lance around the time the photograph was taken, and even Shiro could tell they looked the same.

“No doubt about it,” said Coran.

“Lance is the one who raped Keith?”

“I – I can barely believe it, but the evidence doesn’t lie.” Coran blinked away tears. “I think we need to talk to Keith first. It’s a tad difficult to comprehend, isn’t it? Lance is the same boy that saved my life, who I always had nice little chats with, but _this_ is something beyond the pail. I think I may be a teensy bit in shock. Lance? It’s just –”

“I’m going to need you to tell Allura to keep him away.”

“Hmm? He’s being watched already, lad.”

Shiro clenched his fists until blood was drawn from his organic hand. The sheer rage overcame him until his vision blurred and his mouth ran dry, and his heart raced until it was all he could hear within his ears. There was a rush of adrenaline. Livid anger. He panted for breath, as he slammed his cybernetic hand down on the control panel and heard the metal pieces crack and fizzle as the holographic image died away. Shiro spat in a hissed breath:

“If I see him, I’ll kill him.”

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Lance swallowed hard.

Tension hung heavy in the air. Hunk sat with hands clasped between parted thighs, as he bounced his right leg in a rapid manner to burn off energy, and Allura stood before them with finger on her lip and shoulders slouched as she strove to make herself smaller. Every now and then, Allura would pace back and forth. Hunk would make a stray joke. He was a part of their group, sharing in their desire for news, but he knew that would soon end.

He looked again to the doors to the lounge. There was a lingering silence, broken only by the patter of Allura’s feet upon the floor and Hunk’s occasional sighs, but he heard his heart pound within his ears until he could hear nothing else. It was difficult to focus. Lance looked from face to face and saw the sheer worry on their expressions, but the rush of adrenaline through his body made his blood run cold and forced him to look away, too afraid in case he let something slip through his gaze or body language or words.

“Do you think it’ll be much longer?” Hunk asked.

Lance winced. He looked again to the doors . . . _‘I – I’m sorry, Keith. Please, wake up. You got to wake up!’_. . . _blood on his hands, running off down his body and into the drain, as he looked to the bathroom door and feared someone breaking into his room, dragging him away, angry at his actions_ . . . Lance held back a pained laugh. It was likely Keith experienced the same fear, as he sat on constant edge for the next blow or bite, but there was no way to tell him that everything was okay. No way to make it right.

The tears stung at his eyes, as he blinked them away. Hunk was still clad in his pyjamas, just as Lance and Allura were still dressed in nightwear, and it added an extra later of vulnerability. He fought away the urge to hyperventilate. The room was cold. He was light-headed, mouth dry, and he wanted to run and hide. They would find out. They would be angry with him. The desire to flee was too strong, as he clenched his fists.

“It should not be much longer,” reassured Allura.

“Yeah,” muttered Hunk. “Well . . . sooner we get our names cleared, the better.”

“I wish that I could share in your optimism, but we cannot deny the evidence that has been laid before us. Keith was marked by an alpha, which means that the logical suspect is . . . one of you.” Allura winced and forced a weak smile. “It pains me to even say such a thing, but – even if there has been a mistake – we are safer together as a group than apart.”

“I don’t know. I mean . . . it’s just . . . _clearly_ someone broke into the castle, right? I just think we should be focussing on finding them and making sure Keith is alright, but instead we’re just – like – _sitting_ here. I feel so helpless! Isn’t it driving you crazy?”

“There is nothing more that I want than to do something.”

“Right? So let’s go do something!”

Lance flinched, as Hunk jumped to his feet. The other teenager clasped his hands into fists before him, while he jerked his body to alternate between facing Allura and Lance, and – each time he moved – bile and acid rose to the back of Lance’s throat. He remembered vaguely striking Keith with the belt, slamming his face into the ground, sliding into him without any preparation . . . Hunk would never do something like that, but knowing – _knowing_ – he had done that same thing put doubt into his mind.

It was a primal fear. He knew Hunk would never hurt a fly; he was desperate to help Keith, edgy to get to the healing pods and just _be_ there for his friend, but each time he jumped up or shouted or moved . . . Lance would grow dizzy and faint. Hunk paced back and forth, as if taking over for Allura, and the two remained standing until their attention shifted focus. They turned to look at him. He let out a shuddered breath. Panic.

“Hey,” said Hunk. “You seem pretty quiet, pal?”

Lance opened his mouth to speak. No sound came out. He wanted to tell them everything, but his mouth was too dry and his lips only trembled, and – as he tried to force out some sound – the door to the lounge slammed open. The noise brought him to his feet. He turned to see Pidge standing in the doorway; the white knuckles of her hand clenched around a computer tablet, with her face was flushed a violent red, and – as he forced a smile to greet her – the small woman narrowed her gaze on him. Pidge screamed out in a broken voice:

“You son of a bitch!”

Pidge ran straight for him. He struggled to process what followed; there was a blur of movement, followed by various yells from Hunk and Allura, and then – in a second – a spark of pain across his jaw and a flash of white light. Lance lost balance. There was a scream from Allura. He collided onto the hard floor, as he rolled onto his back and touched his chin. A drop of blood. Pidge towered over him, with fists raised to his chest. Furious.

Lance gathered his senses; he saw Pidge standing over him, foot raised high ready to stamp, but Hunk ran before her and pushed her back. It was a harsh push. Pidge stumbled back, before she looked to Hunk with a curled lip and narrowed eyes, and dove once again for Lance who lay prone upon the floor. Hunk cried out a series of ‘no, no, no’, as he quickly grabbed her by her waist and swung her around. Lance worried – for a brief moment – she might hit Hunk with the tablet still in hand. He dropped her over onto the couch.

“Hey. Hey!” Hunk snapped. “Whoa, what are you doing?”

“Look at the results, Hunk! Look at them!”

Pidge shoved the tablet in his face. There was an absolute silence; Hunk heaved a long sigh and took the tablet from her, as he stared her down and looked over to his injured friend with a sympathetic expression. Lance widened his eyes. He experienced a dread unlike any other, even as Allura reached down to help him to his feet, and he could see in Pidge’s face that she knew. _She knew_. He fell faint. Allura kept him on his feet, as she held him for support.

Lance struggled to calm his racing heart. It pounded in his ears, painful in his chest, and the urge to run was stronger than ever. Time seemed to slow down. Allura sighed with a sound of relief, as if she truly expected the results to clear their names, and he could only imagine the disappointment that would come . . . they would hate him . . . he fought for breath. Hunk murmured incoherent words, as he scrolled through the results, while Pidge kept her eyes locked onto Lance with such intensity that it almost hurt. He swallowed hard.

“Okay,” said Hunk. “See, this can’t be right. It –”

Hunk turned with tablet outward to show Lance and Allura. Lance saw his name and photograph; he must have let slip some small tell, as Hunk’s smile fell at once and his eyes widened, and Allura’s hands fell from his shoulders to her sides. _They knew_. Lance dropped to his knees, as the dam that held back his fear broke. He wept into his hands. The terror gave way for absolute despair, like a crushing wave that threatened to overwhelm him, and he wanted to tear at his skin and claw at his flesh. He wanted to run. He wanted to hide.

“Oh no,” whispered Allura. “Tell me it is not true.”

“The evidence doesn’t lie,” spat Pidge through tears. “Coran sent me a sample. He said he wanted someone else to verify the results, just to be sure, but I tested them ten times over and they aren’t any different. We still need Keith to verify, but – yeah – it’s Lance.”

“Aw, come on, there has to be a mistake.” Hunk ran his hands over his face. “Lance is my buddy! I’ve known him since – like – forever . . . do you think _maybe_ a Galra broke into the castle and – I don’t know – tampered with the samples or something? Let’s just wait to see what Keith says, alright? I mean, I’ll trust Keith’s word, but this is just . . . yeah.”

“Science doesn’t lie, Hunk! There’s camera footage and –”

“W-Well, we can ask Lance? I mean . . .”

Lance looked up to see Hunk staring down. He could barely endure such a look; those brown eyes were wide and shimmered with unshed tears, while his plump lips parted with a soft gasp, and his head shook almost imperceptibly in disbelief. Lance dropped his head and closed his eyes, as he listened to how Hunk paced and muttered, and soon those footsteps stopped right before him. Hunk stood before him. Lance whispered:

“I’m sorry.”

He blinked away tears and looked up. Hunk paled. Lance forced a smile, as he looked to his closest friend and hoped for some compassion, just so he wouldn’t have to suffer through this alone, and yet he knew that – no matter how he suffered – Keith suffered worse. He flinched, knowing he deserved to suffer and yet desperate to avoid that same suffering. Hunk clenched his fists and drew back his hand. All hope fled from Lance’s body; his best friend turned on him, he had no one left to protect him. He didn’t expect for Allura to dive before him

“No, you must not attack him!”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Hunk yelled. “He just _raped_ our friend!”

“Because then we are no better than he is!” Allura drew in a deep breath, as she brought her hands to her chest and looked behind her to the man upon the floor. “It is not for us to decide alone what to do with Lance, but – until Keith recovers enough to offer forth an opinion – we must find an adequate short-term solution to serve justice for this deed.”

“I’m pretty sure Keith would want the shit kicked out of him.”

“I’m all for that,” mumbled Pidge.

“He is your friend, is he not?” Allura asked. “I have no sympathy for a man that can betray his companions and cause such horrific harm to another person, but I do believe that every living being has a right to respect . . . as difficult as that may well be.”

“I – it’s just – I mean -!” Hunk let out a long sigh. “He’s my friend, yeah, but so is Keith. I wasn’t _actually_ going to beat him up or anything, but – yeah – I think we _kind of_ deserve at least one free punch each? Like . . . _fuck_! How do we even go from here? Is there like some kind of space jail where he can go? What about Voltron? What about therapy for Keith? Is there a way to like . . . rehabilitate Lance? I just . . . it’s a lot to take in.”

“Lance pilots Blue, right?” Pidge shrugged and said: “We could always see if Blue will accept Allura or Coran, which would totally eliminate the need for Keith to work alongside Lance, and – honestly – I’d be happy with that. They can’t work together, and why should Keith be kicked out just to make his rapist happy? That’s one problem sorted.”

“Okay, so what about actual _justice_? Most of the universe is Galra ran, in case you didn’t notice, and I _doubt_ Lance would get a fair trial with them. If we go back to Earth, it’s _way_ too many questions and interrogations for all of us, delaying our work with Voltron and –”

“Well, does the castle have any cells? We could lock him up here.”

“What? Alone in solitary indefinitely? Er. . . _no_.”

Lance climbed to his feet. The dread was difficult to overcome; he was struck by the weight of his actions, unable to change them and unwilling to face them, and he blinked away tears and took a step back. He pulled his gown tighter around him. Allura looked to him with pursed lips and narrowed eyes, as he flinched and looked down at the ground, and he wondered whether Keith felt this vulnerable . . . this exposed. Allura asked in a quiet voice:

“Why did you do it, Lance?”

He looked to her and saw the tears in her eyes, as well as the flush to her cheeks, and yet – each time he opened his mouth to respond – no sound came out. The room spun around him. Lance took a step back while his thoughts turned to Keith; he could never undo the terror wrought upon him, while the thought of him having experienced a terror like this . . . unable to escape the memories, unable to escape the trauma . . . broke him. It hurt.

The guilt and shame were unbearable. He wanted to run, but there was no place to run. Even if he could somehow get them to forgive him, his life was over and there was no escaping that shadow over his heart, and he knew he needed to pay. He needed to make recompense. It was enough for him to claw at his wrists with unconscious movements, while he shook his head over and over in an attempt to process his thoughts. He looked to Allura and saw her look back. The dark-skinned princess looked to him like a stranger. He was a stranger.

“I was jealous,” said Lance.

“You were jealous?” Pidge asked. “You raped him out of jealousy?”

“It – It wasn’t like that!” Lance blinked away tears. “I love him. I really do love him. It’s just that he makes me so _angry_ that I don’t know what else to do . . . we fight and we criticise and we insult . . . I kept seeing him with Shiro and I – I just knew there was something between them. I knew that Shiro wanted him and I . . . I didn’t want to lose him. I didn’t want to let him and go, but he kept getting further and further away . . .

“It – It was like this – this _cloud_ came over me. I was seeing myself acting like I wasn’t even in my own body! I just . . . acted. I was so angry! I had this huge adrenaline rush and this rush of hormones and I just needed to _do_ something! I wanted him to hurt just like he kept hurting me, and he was always so much better than me and so much stronger and so much –”

“So much more ‘alpha’?” Pidge asked.

“Honestly? Yeah.” Lance winced and swallowed hard. “I’m supposed to protect him and be strong for him, but he just constantly keeps outshining me . . . I thought that I could just – I don’t know – put him in his place. It felt so _good_ to just lash out, too. I couldn’t stop! It was like a burst of rage and energy and emotion, and I was just . . . acting. I just . . . did it.”

The tears finally burst from him. Lance wept into his hands . . . he was the man who woke from his coma to save Pidge’s life, the man who risked everything to save Coran from an explosion, and now he was the man who raped his team-mate . . . the tears burned his eyes and blurred his vision. He wanted to scream, but his throat was clogged and sore and painful from the lump that formed. The air became deathly cold. Hunk reached out to him, as if to provide some comfort, but soon removed his hand. He refused to touch Lance.

“I – I’ll do whatever I have to, I promise.” Lance sniffed. “I’ll apologise to Keith, and I’ll keep my distance, and I’ll . . . I’ll . . . I don’t know. I can’t make it go away! I can volunteer at shelters or something? I can donate money to charity? I can do something, can’t I? Please, don’t hate me! You guys are all I have out here. I don’t even have home . . .”

“You think your family will want you back after this?” Pidge spat. “You don’t get to come back from this! You don’t get to play the victim! I don’t even know if Keith is okay, because I’m not even allowed in there . . . I’m not allowed in because of _you_!”

“Aw, sheesh,” muttered Hunk. “I can’t even imagine what he’s going through. Like, I know I’d be _totally_ terrified of anyone . . . if my best friend could do that to me, what’s to stop acquaintances or teammates doing worse, you know? If only Lance weren’t an alpha or an omega . . . beta folk can’t mate anyone, can they? This – This is going to fuck him up. I can’t even imagine being mated to my rapist. Do you think he’ll always be afraid?”

“He’ll come around,” chanced Lance. “It’ll get better.”

“Hey, man, you don’t get a say in this.”

Lance winced and tried to steady his breaths. _Rejected_. He was alone and there was nowhere to turn, as anyone who he could ask for help hated him, and – worst of all – they had every right to hate him for his actions. He hated himself. Pidge sat cross-legged on the sofa, with the tablet now back upon her lap, and she flicked between various medical reports and DNA results, sometimes watching the security footage as if it could reveal something more than the truth of the situation. Hunk and Allura stood not far from him.

He reached out with a trembling hand to Allura, but Allura pulled away from him. Lance left his hand hanging in midair. There was a visible shake to his fingers, as he pulled away and clasped his hand to his chest, and he looked down to see a few specks of blood to the lapel of his gown from the earlier punch. The guilt returned. The shame. He struggled to process the world around him, with nowhere to turn, and he wanted out. It needed to end.

“I believe ‘house-arrest’ is our best course of action,” said Allura.

“Yeah, but for how long?” Hunk asked. “Forever?”

“No, this shall just be a temporary measure.” Allura heaved a long sigh. “I believe we need to prioritise the well-being of Keith at this time, after which we need to know how he wishes to proceed. We cannot allow Lance to go unpunished, but I do believe that Keith needs to be a part of the process and have his voice heard, else he shall never gain closure.”

“Okay, but what if Keith wants to – like – forgive him or something?”

“We cannot allow Lance to remain a part of our group. That much is certain.” Allura looked between Pidge and Hunk, as she bit on her lip in thought. “It is simply too much risk, but that is not to say Keith cannot choose whether to bring him to trial or simply to expel him from our presence. Lance could be returned to Earth, or perhaps given a trial on one of the liberated planets, or any number of potential options. We must listen to Keith.”

The despair that overcame Lance was too much. He knew he couldn’t live a life under that level of weight, especially when it destroyed all other emotion and left him so isolated, and there was no route out of his problems in sight. It crushed him. It reminded him of the initial minutes after being told of a loved one’s passing . . . the devastation, the absence, and the grief . . . only to know there was no end to the pain. This wouldn’t go away. One moment of spontaneity resulted in a lifetime of change. He whispered in a broken voice:

“So what happens now?”

Pidge scoffed in disgust; she stabbed at the tablet, while she looked at him over the rim of her glasses, and Allura – never letting her eyes move from Keith – gracefully walked across the floor to sit beside the young teenager. Lance swallowed hard. The sweat from his forehead merged with his tears, so that his eyes stung and caused great pain, and he sniffed once more and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. It was too painful for words.

“You go to your room,” said Pidge. “We lock you in there.”

“Is that safe?” Hunk asked. “What if he gets out?”

“He won’t.” Pidge spun the tablet around to show raw footage. “You’re looking at a live-stream from security cameras now located within the private quarters, which also have motion sensors on the bedroom doors to alert to any movement in and out of each room, and – to top _that_ off – all footage remains recorded until myself _and_ Coran have both watched the footage and given the okay for it to be deleted. He moves? We’ll know.”

“There are – ah – no cameras _in_ the rooms, yes?” Allura asked.

“Huh? Oh, no. Coran said that was too much an invasion of privacy. I can get that you two are a couple, so you need alone time, and – honestly – I don’t even want to _think_ about what the guys get up to when they’re alone. I shared a room with Matt once. There’s not enough brain-bleach in the world to get some of those sounds out of my head.”

“So Lance stays in his room and we work this out?” Hunk asked. “Okay, I can deal with that. I just . . . I don’t know . . . it’s a lot to take in, you know? Lance is my best friend. I can’t deny the evidence, but he’s just . . . I always thought he was better than that.”

“Yeah, well, clearly he’s not. Are we done here? I think we’re done.”

“Hey, I don’t think we can be ‘done’ with Keith still . . . hurt.”

“So let’s focus on Keith and ignore Lance.”

Pidge shoved the tablet toward Allura. The young woman caught it in her hands, as the evidence of the rape stared her straight in the face, and she looked away with a curled lip and watery eyes, as she ignored the beta teenager in hopes things may improve. Pidge locked eyes with Lance. It forced him to take a step back, while he looked from face to face in hopes of some support, but Hunk looked only at the floor. No one would look at him. Pidge spat:

“Like I said: we’re done.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Keith? Are you decent?”

Shiro rapped upon the bathroom door. The infirmary was still quiet; Coran shuffled about in an attempt to clean the pods and keep busy, all the while looking over to the door with a concerned frown and pursed lips, but he said little and allowed Shiro to keep watch. There were occasional buzzes of notifications on the computer, mostly from Pidge or just general updates from various tests, but otherwise there was just the sound of running water.

There was a rattle of noise; Coran slid beside him with a tray filled with Altean food, mostly of the ‘green goo’ kind, but – despite still dressed in nightwear – he bore a bright smile that made the lines of his eyes deepen with pride. He nodded towards the bathroom and his smile faltered, as he gnawed at his lips and rustled his moustache. The colour to his cheeks faded. Shiro forced a smile, as he ran a hand through his black-and-white hair, before he took the tray from Coran’s hands and nodded in acknowledgement. Coran asked:

“Just a wee bit of dinner for our boy, eh?”

Shiro gripped the tray with a firm hand. The metal warmed to the touch, but remained cool enough to ground him and give him something else on which to focus, and – as he scrunched closed his eyes and steadied his breathing – a deep panic overcame him. He opened his eyes only for tears to fall, and Coran let out a shuddered breath with a sad smile, before he reached out with a gloved hand to wipe away Shiro’s tears. Shiro laughed through his pain, as he sniffed and swallowed hard. Coran pulled his hand away.

The two men looked to the bathroom door, where the water continued to run. It was well over an hour since Keith went inside. Shiro looked to Coran, as if searching for some form of permission, but Coran simply looked down on the floor and placed his hand on the panel that would open the door electronically, and waited for Shiro to give the word. They stayed silent and still for a long few minutes, until Shiro worked up an ounce of courage.

“Keith, I’m coming in,” called Shiro.

Coran opened the door. A burst of steam flooded out the room, blurring their vision and physically hurting Shiro for a brief few seconds, and – as Coran coughed and spluttered – Shiro gently placed the try upon the floor beside the door. He used both hands to navigate his way inside the bathroom; he moved slow, unwilling to bump into Keith or any of the fixtures, and stopped only when he reached the shower. The controls were located just outside the pane of safety glass, unlike Earth showers, and he was able to turn the water off.

“Don’t worry,” said Shiro. “I’m not looking.”

“Towels are on the left,” called in Coran. “The lad may appreciate one.”

Shiro fumbled around with his organic hand, until he found a towel through the steam. It was soft to the touch, as well as large enough easily for two people, and he struggled to hold it up and outward like a shield. He forced a smile. He hoped to allow Keith his modesty, while allowing him to step into the towel and cover up, but no one came outside from the cubicle. No one made a noise. He waited, as the steam dissipated. Only the loud trickling drop from the showerhead broke the silence, as Shiro swallowed back his nervousness.

He listened to his heart race within his ears, as he chanced a glance inside the cubicle, and – blushing a dark red from seeing his friend and crush in such a natural state – he finally laid eyes on Keith. He looked broken. Keith sat naked upon the tiled floor, with arms wrapped around his legs, and his head . . . no longer held high or with eyes wide in awareness . . . was buried into his knees. He looked frightened . . . small . . . a fraction of himself.

Keith looked up. Those eyes were red and bloodshot, while his lip was cut and bloody from where he bit upon the skin, and his cheeks were pale beyond measure. He struggled to focus his gaze; it seemed – for a moment – he was unable to make out who was before him, and the panic that seized him caused him to retch and gag and struggle and slip, as he fought his way to the corner of the cubicle and moaned incoherent words and ‘no’. He only stopped when Shiro let out an audible sob, and finally froze in the corner of the cubicle.

“S-Shiro,” whispered Keith. “Shiro, please . . .”

A hand rose up in reach of him. Shiro needed no others words. He dropped the towel and slammed open the cubicle door, as he ran inside and threw himself onto the tiles beside Keith. The tiled floor struck his knees painfully, while the water stained his legs and dripped onto his back, and yet none of that mattered when Keith’s eyes watered and his arms reached out to him. Shiro slid next to him and wrapped his arms around his friend. Keith wept.

“It’s okay,” whispered Shiro. “It’s okay, I promise.”

“I’m – I’m sorry, Shiro. I’m sorry. I’m sorry . . .”

Keith’s hands clenched into his black shirt, while he buried his head into the crook of Shiro’s neck, and he cried so hard that Shiro felt each and every vibration of his chest. The sobs hurt his ears, but were soon lost under the sounds of his cries in turn. He rubbed circles on Keith’s back; the naked teenager no longer cared about the skin-to-skin contact or the exposition of his body, as all self-consciousness was eroded away, and that realisation in itself sent a stab of pain through Shiro. He held Keith tight, unable to let go or loosen his grip.

The steam finally faded away. Shiro listened as a tray was slid inside the room, before a door was quietly closed shut, and he realised finally there was some privacy between them. He wanted to laugh, but he could only let out a cry of pain. Keith was so cold in his hands, despite how red his skin shone and how long he laid simply underneath the hot stream of water, and Shiro wanted to hide with him. He wanted to protect him.

“You never have to apologise to me,” sobbed Shiro.

“If – If I was just stronger or – or – or –”

“Even if you were the weakest human in the galaxy, this would  _still_  not be your fault.” Shiro gripped him tighter and let out a staggered breath. “They once told us a story at the Garrison, to – to teach us how to respect omegas. D-Do you . . . do you remember?”

“N-No,” murmured Keith. “No.”

“The story went that Mohammed was with his cousin; they saw a beautiful woman who asked them a question, but Mohammed’s cousin was unable to stop staring at her beauty, so he took his cousin’s chin and forced his gaze away. The – The idea was that it’s not an omega’s duty to avoid being objectified, but an  _alpha’s_  duty to avoid objectifying them.”

Keith laughed through his tears. He was always the one with the lowest self-esteem, always fighting against his emotional difficulties and autism as if either could be conquered with willpower alone, and now he experienced the worst trauma imaginable. Shiro tensed. Every muscle in his body hurt and ached and burned, as he fought back the urge to punch at a wall, all because he failed to protect Keith. He failed to save him.  _He failed him_.

“My point is that you have a  _right_  to be yourself,” said Shiro. “You shouldn’t have to dress differently or change your habits or alter your behaviours. Lance . . . Lance chose to force himself on you, Keith; you never asked for it or wanted it, you weren’t to blame for it, and you have nothing –  _nothing_  – to be sorry about. He is in the wrong. Only him.”

“I – I loved him, Shiro. I loved him.” Keith choked on spit and bile, until he calmed down enough to continue. “What does that say about me? If I can attract people like that . . . if I’m attracted to people like that . . . do I deserve this? Is this because I’m a Galra?”

“Galra or human: no one deserves to be raped, Keith.”

Keith physically tensed at those words. The second the word ‘raped’ was uttered, he clenched his hands into tight fist and became incredibly still, as if trying to hide from the world or – at least – hide from Shiro. Even his breathing came to a halt. He was like a porcelain doll . . . rigid, posed, and still so perfect . . . Shiro scrunched shut his eyes, as he realised that they couldn’t avoid the brutal truth forever. Keith was raped. The mark on his neck stood as a testament to that abuse, as did the scars that criss-crossed his back.

“Right now, you’re a victim,” whispered Shiro.

“Way to make me feel better.”

“ _But_  soon you’ll be a survivor.” Shiro kissed the top of his head. “I won’t lie to you. I know you hate being patronised, and the journey to recover will take a lot of time, but I promise you –  _on my very life_  – one day you will smile and laugh and be happy. You won’t even look back, because this will be just a distant memory. Stay strong, Keith. Stay strong.”

Keith sniffed and shook his head. The water from the showerhead turned from a dribble into just a few drops, while Shiro shivered from the abrupt change in temperature. The water that saturated all surfaces was now lukewarm, quickly turning into something quite cold, and he could see all over Keith’s skin tiny goosebumps that looked uncomfortable. Shiro gently extricated himself from his friend; an immense guilt overcame him as Keith clawed at his shirt, begging him to stay in a childlike and quiet voice. Shiro flinched.

He darted through the cubicle and grabbed at the towel upon the floor, all the while listening to how Keith wept and begged for his return, and – just as the pleas turned into apologies – he threw the towel around Keith and swaddled him as best as was possible. The soft and thick fabric provided a small comfort, as Keith slowly quietened his cries. Shiro forced a trembling smile and guided Keith to his feet, all the while making sure the towel covered him.

It was draped over his shoulders almost like a gown; it stopped just above his ankles, while Keith clenched it shut together in hands held high about his neck, and Shiro hugged him close and allowed him to brace almost all his weight upon him. He was heavier than Shiro remembered, as he guided Keith into the infirmary, and – with a gentle nudge – he slid the tray of food back inside with his foot. Coran jumped from beside a console, before he ran over and grabbed the tray and gestured them over to a makeshift table.

“Still not eaten?” Coran clicked his tongue. “You ought to eat, my boy, else you’ll end up as weak as a bilgesnipe after mating season! I can understand not having much of an appetite, but will you try a bite just for me? Here comes the Altean Castle! Right down the hatch!”

“Seriously?” Keith asked. “Are you really going to –?”

Coran picked up a spoon and made ‘swoosh’ noises, almost as if feeding a child, and soon the green goo was shoved into Keith’s mouth. The teenager spluttered and coughed, as he forcibly swallowed his food with a few thumps to his chest, but Coran just beamed a bright and proud smile, before he guided Keith into a chair and sat him at the table. Shiro laughed despite everything, only to feel that overwhelming guilt once more. The idea of laughter when Keith was so traumatised felt wrong. It trivialised his pain.

“Why don’t we eat together?” Shiro suggested.

“Ah, now that’s a plan,” chirped Coran.

Shiro and Coran sat down at different sides of the table; it was a cosy arrangement, with the tray of food centre of them, and Coran dished the Altean cuisine around with a smile that almost looked natural, were it not for the unshed tears that threatened to fall from his eyes. It was easy to see that he strove to be strong for Keith, as if he wanted to ease him back into ‘normality’, but Shiro knew that nothing would be ‘normal’ for a long time.

They followed Keith’s lead and ate in silence. Shiro even refrained from complaints, even as he poked and prodded at his goo with an irritated half-smile, and Coran – desperate to break the silence and fill the room with some noise – told stories of heroes from Altea that conquered innumerable odds and uncountable tragedies. Keith didn’t respond. He simply took the occasional bite, while playing with his food, until another tear ran down his cheek and dropped onto the goo with a small splash. He looked between them with a trembling lip.

“How bad are the scars?” Keith asked.

Coran dropped his fork. It clattered to the table with a great deal of noise, made worse by how he stuttered and mumbled incoherent apologies, and struggled to find the fork after it fell onto the floor, while Keith drew in a shuddered breath in concern. Shiro audibly swallowed, as he reached across the table to take Keith’s hand. Keith pulled away. It hurt to be rejected by his friend, but – at the same time – he understood the need for distance and the fear of intimacy, and instead he let his hand remain palm-upward on the table. Just in case.

“You still look handsome, Keith,” assured Shiro.

“How bad?” Keith asked. “Tell me.”

“Well, they’re mostly just confined to your back, so . . .”

“Tell me, Shiro.  _Tell me_!” Keith started to weep once more. “I – I need to know. I need to know just how bad they look! My – My wrists look normal, maybe just a thin white line, and my face doesn’t look scarred at all . . . my nail seems to have grown back . . . I don’t see bruises or cuts or anything, b-but I can’t see my back. Tell me. Please . . . tell me.”

Shiro looked pleadingly to Coran. The words died on his lips, as he couldn’t bring himself to hurt his closest friend any further at such a sensitive time, and he dreaded how more bad news upon bad news would affect Keith. Coran coughed into a gloved hand, as he pushed his plate away from him. He forced a smile, while he reached over to pat Keith sympathetically on his shoulder, before he pulled back and said in a slow and sad voice:

“There are around twenty visible scars.”

“T-That many?” Keith asked.

“They are raised keloid scars,” continued Coran. “They are very white, just a shade lighter than your natural skin tone, and – aesthetically – quite good compared to some I’ve seen, in that they’re mostly straight lines and quite thin. You won’t be able to hide them, but – well – you don’t mind how our Shiro looks, eh? I think his scar makes him quite distinguished.”

“I – I – I mean . . . they’re that bad?”

“You can hide them with a shirt, but . . . yes.” Coran winced. “I’m sorry, Keith. All I can say is that we can treat them with a variety of ointments and gels, but this is likely as good as they will ever look. We can show you with a mirror later, if you’d like? Get a good look? I think – once you see them – you’ll feel much better about the situation! I have a few scars myself; I got one from when I was a wee babe, came across this – this – this . . .”

Coran winced at the sight of Keith crying into his towel. The teenaged boy held the fabric up to his face, desperate to hide his tears from the others, while he hunched forward and tensed the muscles within his limbs. It was heart-breaking to see; Shiro was helpless to make the pain go away, helpless to erase the trauma itself, and his heart raced loud within his ears, while he grew dizzy and weak from exhaustion. He listened as Keith cried, until finally Keith stopped with broken sobs and eerie laughter. Keith asked:

“What alpha will ever want me?”

Shiro finally broke. He swept his food to the side of the table, before he ran to Keith’s side, and – giving the boy no time to react – he wrapped his arms around Keith and held him tight, gripping so hard that he worried he might hurt him. It was impossible to let go, as he wept against that black hair and buried his nose against his scalp. He sobbed alongside Keith, who gripped onto his shirt with enough force to tear the fabric. Shiro sniffed.

“I still want you,” whispered Shiro.

“Y-Yeah?” Keith laughed. “Will you still want me when we fuck? I’ll be bent forward during my heats . . . I’ll take that natural pose, all submissive, and you’ll see them . . . you won’t even be able to ease my heat, because Lance fucking mated me first. I’ll be insatiable, only able to be sated by my fucking rapist, and you’ll be looking at those scars. You’ll know.”

“No, Keith. You’re wrong.” Shiro wiped away his tears. “Firstly, if we ever get to that place, we’ll be ‘making love’ and not ‘fucking’. Secondly, those scars don’t make you ugly. Each and every one of those scars  _proves_  you survived something that would break most of us, and they  _prove_  that you are strongest omega I have ever known. They will show that you endured. They will show that you  _trusted_  me enough to show me. It’ll be an honour.”

“I’ll still be mated to him,” whispered Keith.

“True, but he isn’t mated to  _you_. I – I could be, though . . . I would be honoured to be your mate, if it ever got to that point, and I can promise that so many other alpha men and women would be honoured, too. You’re wanted. You’re desired. If we mated, only you would be able to sate my ruts and I would sync my ruts to your heats . . . it would be nearly the same.”

“We couldn’t get married.” Keith swallowed back his tears. “Only two mated people can be married, which means we wouldn’t get the same rights . . . our children would be illegitimate . . . if – if I’m around Lance, our ruts and heats would sync . . .”

“I can guarantee you that you won’t see Lance again.”

“But what about forming Voltron?”

Shiro pulled back just enough to take Keith’s face in both hands. He looked into the blue-grey eyes, where he saw the depths of the pain that crossed his features, and he saw – beyond all else – the absolute fear of being a burden upon his team. Shiro fought back the urge to squeeze on him, as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Keith’s, where he felt what could be the start of a fever, and he drew in a deep and shuddered breath. He had no qualms about removing Lance from the team. It was his turn to protect his friend.

“You come first, Keith,” promised Shiro.

Keith wept in his arms.


	5. Chapter 5

Coran woke with a start.

The sound of running water struck a dark chord; he bolted upright in bed, as he turned with a racing heart to look toward the _en suite_ , but – rather than seeing Keith broken and beaten – he saw instead his partner preparing for the upcoming day. Allura turned off the shower. The bathroom door was wide open, with the lights on inside that illuminated her body perfectly, and he wondered whether she would catch him staring from the dark bedroom.

He smiled to see the curves to her figure, as well as the fullness to her breasts. It brought a blush to his cheeks, and – even after so many years – he forced himself to hide his gaze and smiles through a contrived coughing fit, desperate to hide his attraction. He heard Allura laugh from inside the bathroom. The young princess turned with hands on her hips and legs parted, displaying an extremely confident image that was at odds with her vulnerability, and – all the while – water dripped down her brown skin as a further temptation. He flushed red.

Those long and white locks were slick to her back and neck, with only a few stray curls showing from where they dried ahead of the rest, and a thatch of matching hairs adorned her lower half in what looked almost like an invitation. He smiled to see her smile, especially when she turned off the light to the bathroom and wandered over to the bed with only a slither of silver light to guide her way and shrouded within shadows.

“Even after all these years,” teased Allura, “you act as if it is the first time.”

Allura sat astride him. He forced himself to fluff up the pillows behind him, so that he could sit upright in comfort, while he rested his hands on soft thighs covered in a light dusting of body hair that – so unlike the humans – remained upon her skin in a natural state. There was a rich scent of perfume, which drifted stronger each time she leaned into him to place not-so-innocent kisses to his earlobe and jaw. He swallowed hard, already nervous.

It was a temptation to reach up and take a hold of her breasts, to perhaps taste at the erect nipples and tease her to arousal, and the desire was made stronger by how those toned arms wrapped around his neck, as she nursed a love-bite into existence upon his collarbone. He gnawed at his lip, when one hand came up to stroke patterns through his thick chest hair and scratch on his skin with light yet dangerous touches. The desire was there, but none of it translated to his member. The erection refused to come. He felt . . . impotent.

“I am sorry, my sweet,” he whispered.

“Is it something that I have done?” Allura asked.

“Not at all.” Coran held her close in a chaste embrace. “I just feel a teeny bit . . . well . . . not in the mood. It’s – ah – nothing you have done; I have to say that you’re as beautiful as ever, enough so that I curse myself for having to decline your advances, but – it’s – well – I just feel . . . I guess my mind’s a wee bit distracted, lass. That’s all.”

“Then tell me why you’re so distracted, my love.”

Allura pulled away just enough to stroke his cheek. The gentle touch coaxed a sincere smile from his lips, as she pressed her forehead to his and delivered a peck to his lips, and – as she simply sat upon his lap – he traced light patterns over her back. The covers were the only barrier between them, at least until she slid next to him in bed beneath them. He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he held, pulling her close until her cheek rested just over his heart, and he fought back the urge to sob as she held him equally as close.

“You are strong for so many people,” said Allura.

“It’s no hassle,” lied Coran. “After all, it’s my job to be strong for you.”

“Yes, but who is ever strong for you?” Allura pressed a kiss to his chest. “It was always difficult growing up to find a place to belong, as a princess has no equal beside her own, but _you_ gave me an equal upon which I could depend. These four walls give us shelter from the outside world, inside which we can simply be ‘Allura’ and ‘Coran’. We are equals here.”

“Aye, I appreciate that more I can ever express. I simply do not wish to burden you with things that . . . well . . . may just worry you in turn. What good will it do for us both to worry, eh? It’s better if one of us stays happy; after all . . . you being happy makes me happy.”

“How can I be happy when my love is so sad?”

Coran winced. A spark of guilt ran through him, as he held her close and drew in the scent of her perfumes, and – as he embraced he soft and smooth skin – he closed his eyes and thought back to the sight earlier that day of Keith so bloody and broken. The room was quiet, with only the gentle sounds of Allura’s breath and occasional murmurs of contentment. He traced patterns on her upper arm, while he struggled to get out the quiet words:

“I just feel . . . guilty being intimate.”

Allura pulled herself up the bed, so that she could lay her head on her pillow, and was able to look him in the eye with relative ease. There was still intimacy between them, as she reached for his hand and interlocked their digits, and allowed their hands to be clasped in the small space between their two bodies, while she entwined their legs and pulled their lower halves close together so that they could touch. A slight chill overcame him, until Allura pulled the blankets to their shoulders and smiled sadly toward him. Allura asked:

“Guilty? Why on Earth so?”

“It’s only been a day, my love.” Coran ran a hand through her damp hair. “Each time I think about our being together, something . . . holds me a wee bit back. I think how Keith endured such pain beyond our imagination; each time we touch, I think about he was touched, and when I feel happy, I think about how devastated he is right now. It . . . hurts.”

“That thought did occur to me, too.” Allura winced. “A part of me thinks it wrong to laugh when Keith still cries, but another part thinks how we cannot share in his sadness forever, as life must proceed and laughter is a natural reaction. Surely, it is okay to love and live and laugh? I think it no slight upon his pain, so long as we continue to respect him and show him support in his time of need. He would want for us to be happy.”

“Aye, Keith is a very practical man, but it’s also a _wee_ bit more than that. I also keep thinking to our Lance . . . it’s hard to discard such a meaningful friendship without a second thought, and yet I know what sins he committed. Does that make me a bad person in turn?”

“I think it makes you Altean, maybe even human, but . . .”

“Ah, I do not forgive him, if that’s why you worry.”

Allura pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. It revealed her younger age and betrayed a sense of immaturity that still lingered, and he smiled to see how the world was only just opening up in shades of grey to her eyes. He saw how she struggled to trust the Galra, fighting with a justified mistrust and years of war, and he saw how she overcame that to support her friends and carry her team. Coran reached out with his free hand to stroke her thick locks of hair, while he hoped for her patience. Allura asked:

“Do you still wish to be his friend?”

“Yes and no,” admitted Coran. “I want to know why he committed such an atrocity. I _need_ to know, lass! If this were some form of mental break, it’s possible he could be rehabilitated after an appropriate penance has been paid, but were it an intrinsic part of his personality . . . well . . . how is it that I could have overlooked that? Did I put the team at risk _simply_ as I lost my knack for spotting the bad apple in the bunch? What would your father say?”

“I think he would say he understand that betrayal,” whispered Allura.

Coran flinched at the memory. Allura said nothing, but slid closer to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, until his arms came – in turn – to rest across her shoulder, and they simply stayed locked together in an intimate embrace. He drew in deep the scent of her hair, as she buried her head into the crook of his neck, and he blinked away tears in memory of Zarkon and his betrayal toward his team. The past was still fresh in his mind. He rubbed his lips together, while he placed a chaste kiss to her head. Allura sniffed with an unshed tear.

“My father was not a foolish man,” said Allura.

“No, but he wanted to believe in the best of people,” replied Coran.

“As do you, my love.” Allura smiled and squeezed his hand. “There are worse traits than to want to see the best of those around us, but – like my father – we must not forget the betrayals and overlook them with the assumption a ‘sorry’ is enough. If you wish to see Lance’s side, for closure and for comprehension, I understand that.”

“I do agree he can’t be a part of the team, Allura, but I don’t think that naturally has to preclude him from any contact with us or from some . . . kindness. This is the man who saved my life, who saved Pidge’s life, who _supported_ us all through our worst -!”

“Good and bad can co-exist inside the same soul.”

“I know, I know,” he murmured. “I just wonder whether it can truly be called ‘friendship’, if we’re willing to turn our backs on him at his time of need, but then I also _hate_ myself for that same thought, because it is _hardly_ as if he cared about Keith when he acted as he did with such violence and contempt. I want to help him, and yet . . .”

“A part of you feels he does not deserve such help. I feel much the same way; it would be so easy to shun him and expel him from our group, yet I worry such rejection and abandonment would make his behaviours worse for he would have nothing left to lose, but is there really a way to compromise and help both victim and abuser? If it comes to it that we must pick a side, I would gladly give my life and resources to Keith and Keith alone.”

Coran hummed in agreement. There could be no arguing that Keith needed to be their priority, and yet the eternal question of ‘why’ hung in the air . . . why Keith, why the change in personality, why the lack of compassion . . . Coran feared – more than anything – the only thing worse than a bad answer would be no answer at all. He left Lance sobbing in his room just hours previous, as if his suffering could at all compare to Keith’s, and he remembered a time when he could comfort Lance with kind words. Now it all seemed . . . dashed.

He held his lover close; there was comfort in their proximity, a relief in holding her against him, and – so long as she was with him – he could fool himself into believing everything was okay, as he reassured himself that she was fine. It could have been her. The sheer guilt at being glad it wasn’t Allura, as if that made things any better, forced him to swallow back a lump that hurt his throat and burned his tongue. He whispered:

“Do you know about the bite mark?”

Allura tensed within his arms, before she lifted her head. The young princess looked to him with sad eyes and a deep frown, while her fingers came up to toy with the hair on his chest, and – together – they shared a long moment of silence. Coran listened to hear what sounded like footsteps outside; someone ran by with loud shouts, while another shouted back from down the hallway, and he had half a mind to get up to chastise them. He was unable to move, as Allura took the opportunity to ask a simple question of him:

“It is a bonding mark of sorts, yes?”

“It’s a smidge more than that,” whispered Coran. “A lot more.”

“I understood it that a person without a mate secretes pheromones.” Allura pursed her lips in thought. “I was told that the mark of a mate prevents these pheromones from being emitted, so one is marked as ‘taken’ by scent alone. One will also sync their ruts or heats to the one they are mated with, making the ideal partnership between two mated people.”

“Yes, but those same heats and ruts can _only_ be sated by the person mated to you. It means – should Keith ever mate Shiro – that Keith can sate Shiro, but that Shiro can never sate Keith, and . . . not only that, but . . . Shiro will sync to Keith, but never shall they sync together. It is apparently a source of intimacy and pride for couples to fall into a new rhythm and sync together, but instead Keith will maintain his rhythm and Shiro will – ah – ‘fall into line’.

“It also means – should Keith spend time around Lance – they’ll naturally sync together, but also potentially trigger ruts and heats in one another . . . Keith can never marry anyone else, either, at least by Earth laws. It’s _beyond_ barbaric; it punishes the victim for the whims of the abuser, but Keith will never be able to marry anyone other than Lance.”

“That – That’s appalling! Is there no way to reverse the bite?”

“It’s permanent,” he admitted.

Allura brought her hand to her mouth. It did little to hide the gasp of breath, as she blinked away tears from her eyes, and Coran could only shed tears in turn, horrified at the idea of being forbidden by law to be with one’s love. They knew too well that pain. Coran’s station and age led to a secret affair while Altea survived, fraught with fear and scandal and a constant state of high alert, and a fate he would not wish upon any other. Even now, they knew their freedom to love one another came at the cost of their people. Allura asked:

“So he and Shiro -?”

Coran listened to the footsteps out in the hallway, which now seemed to linger outside their room before running to and fro, and he wondered whether the Paladins needed their attention, but instead he let his thoughts linger upon Shiro and Keith. He smiled to remember lingering embraces when together, as well as mental breakdowns when apart, and it was almost too clear the depths of the love between them. Coran asked in a sad voice:

“It’s almost funny, isn’t it?”

“Hmm?” Allura asked.

“We all thought Keith and Shiro would be a couple.” Coran blinked away a tear. “Even now, we still talk as if it’s a given! But Keith always loved Lance . . . if he just mated Shiro, maybe married him or just made it official, perhaps none of this would have happened . . . still, we can’t dwell on maybe and what ifs, eh? Got to keep a stiff upper lip!”

“You don’t believe that,” accused Allura. “You don’t.”

“No, but before today I believe Lance would never harm a living soul. They say that the saliva mixes with the blood upon the bite . . . a release of antibodies or a virus or some such, but it’s too late for me to get my brain working . . . six hundred years worth of knowledge takes its toll that way!” Coran winked and tried to appear in good humour. “It’s a little like a vaccine, in that once it’s in your system . . . it’s always there . . . _permanent_.”

Allura saw the facade give way to pain, as he tried to turn his head and blink away his tears, but she knew him too well and knew that his teasing was designed only to ease her worry, and – as such – she worried all the more. Nothing more was said between them. The words needed to be processed and nothing more could be said, but her gentle touches and soothing melodies hummed in a quiet tune provided some reassurance. He closed his eyes. The darkness was a comfort in itself, as he listened to her breaths and tunes.

Exhausted, he allowed his thoughts to race and play amongst themselves. Each one led to another, sometimes disconnected and without any sign of change, and yet it was natural and comforting and allowed him to explore so much lost. He grew lightheaded, while his body grew heavy, and the world around him slowly faded out of mind. It was good. The worries and traumas of the day were gone, as he fell on the brink of sleep.

_‘G-Guys? You guys awake?’_

Coran jolted awake. He startled Allura, who sat upright on his lap. The young princess wiped sleep from her eyes, while she groggily looked about the room with mussed hair, and Coran – sleep-deprived and confused – looked about for the source of the voice. Allura climbed to her feet, still naked and beyond beautiful. Coran smiled and sat upright in turn, before he hunched over and tried to massage his face awake, as he stifled a yawn and fought the urge to collapse back upon the bed. Sleep was too much a temptation.

“What is wrong?” Allura called.

 _‘It’s – It’s Lance,’_ stuttered Hunk. _‘He – He’s tried to kill himself. I don’t know what to do! Pidge is trying to stem the bleeding, and Keith’s in his room just – like – I don’t know . . . rocking and crying and stuff? Shiro’s tending to him. We_ need _you both here.’_

Coldness descended upon the room. Coran sat in shock, while Allura rushed about in search of a gown, and – as the words sank in – a deep sense of terror overcame him, enough that he feared losing one of his closest friends. The guilt followed fast, knowing that many would argue this was what Lance deserved. He blinked away his surprise, seeing Allura now draped in a gown with skin paled in shock. An instinctual part of him wanted to stay within their rooms, too afraid to face reality, but instead he readied himself for what was to come.

“We’re coming,” cried out Coran.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Lance looked broken.

The bandages around his wrists were tight; they stood a sharp contrast to his dark skin, with white upon brown, and they looked almost starched and uncomfortable. It was ‘just a precaution’ according to Coran. He still looked pale, despite the healing pods, as he lay prone and limp on the soft bed of his bedroom. The bedroom lights were kept harsh and bright, with the bedroom door wide open. No privacy. No solitude.

Keith let out a shuddered breath, as he wrapped his arms around his chest. Shiro stood at the foot of Lance’s bed, with hands clenched so tight that a speck of blood dripped from his palm, and his knuckles – still so rough and callused – were white with pressure. The room was in relative silence, with the only sounds that of Shiro’s heavy and hissed breaths, while Coran stood in the doorway and hopped from foot to foot, as his clothes rustled. He desperately avoided making eye-contact with anyone within the room.

He looked almost peaceful. It brought a stab of pain in Keith’s chest, as he stumbled back and braced himself on the edge of the desk, and – as he clasped the metal for support – a variety of beauty products rattled and fell with the sudden jolt. One spilled a sweet liquid across the tabletop; it smelled just like Lance’s face-creams, enough that it brought Keith right back to the moment, where the pain was real and the humiliation unavoidable . . .

. . . _‘I’ll make you mine’ . . . agonising pain; a searing white heat, followed by a hot liquid . . . blood . . . choking on saliva, blood and mucus; unable to scream, unable to cry, back ripped to shreds and nail removed at the root . . . never-ending pain, burning friction . . ._

Keith dropped to his knees, unable to properly breathe. Each breath was short and shallow, as he crossed his arms over his chest and clenched at his shoulders, and – eyes wide and wet with tears – he stared hard at the floor. The coldness of the tile against his cheek was so real, while he shivered and sobbed, but the anger and sadness remained, never leaving no matter how hard he scrunched closed his eyes and wished them away. He let out a small cry.

Hands hovered over his skin. He froze, afraid of a potential touch. It was a strange disconnect; it knocked him halfway to reality, and – as he slowed his breathing – he turned his head to see Shiro knelt beside him with a nervous smile. Keith smiled back, before he threw his arms around Shiro’s shoulders. Shiro finally touched him in turn. They remained locked together while Keith sobbed, and Coran hummed an old Altean tune that provided a small comfort, reminding him of something sang once by his father.

“You don’t have to do this,” whispered Shiro.

Keith pulled back. He wiped his eyes with his fingerless gloves, while his heart finally slowed to a reasonable pace, and – as the tears and sweat stung his eyes – he reached out to Shiro and signalled to help him stand. Shiro stood up with a smile, as he took that hand and yanked Keith to his feet. The teenager stumbled, too weak to stand alone, but Shiro grabbed him by his waist and guided him into a chair beside the desk. Keith sat and sighed.

“I need to do this, Shiro,” said Keith. “I need to confront him.”

“He’s a wee bit groggy still, lad,” replied Coran.

“I – I don’t care! I just . . . I need to know _why_ he tried to kill himself. I mean, I . . . don’t I deserve some kind of justice? Why would he take that from me? W-Why would he hurt me like that and then hurt me some more . . . is it my fault he tried to kill himself? Did I push him into it? Why does he get to have an easy out while I have to live with all this – this –”

“This isn’t your fault, Keith.” Coran stepped into the room with a wince. “I blamed myself for what happened, too, as if I should have seen this in Lance, but – well – the simple fact of life is that sometimes things happen for a variety of factors. We can’t predict the future.”

“It’s also possible Lance is trying to manipulate you,” added Shiro.

“Well, it’s hard to tell,” mumbled Coran.

They stood in relative silence. Keith sniffed and blinked away tears, caught between wanting to scream in anger and run in fear, and – as he looked to Lance – he saw how fragile and broken he looked, as well as how easy it would be to hurt him. He reached out to hold Shiro’s upper arm, as he fought the urge to lash out and do damage. It was wrong to kick someone when they were down, but at the same time . . . that never bothered Lance.

Keith swallowed back bile, as he tried to fight back a wave of nausea. He wondered how little Lance thought of him, maybe even saw him as less than human . . . _less than an omega_. . . a burst of devastation crashed over him. The years of difficulties in dealing with his autism, the blatant discrimination based upon his gender, and now . . . now the person he loved was able to treat him worse than a slab of meat. Keith blinked away tears and shook his head, as his hand slid away from Shiro’s arm. Anger and sorrow merged into one.

He glanced to Coran, only to see pain and concern, and – on closer look – he saw the betrayal as Coran looked over to the sleeping Lance, as if he still hoped the friend he knew could somehow return to them. Shiro squeezed his shoulder, before stepping close, and Keith winced to realise that even now he was playing the stereotype of a ‘weak omega’ that needed an alpha for reassurance. He hated himself for the first time in a long time. Keith whispered:

“He still won’t talk?”

“Hunk was in here for a good four hours,” said Coran. “Nothing!”

Keith opened his mouth to speak. He barely had time to utter a word when Lance stirred, and – as he stirred – Shiro’s grip on Keith tightened, provided just enough relief that Keith was able to slow his breathing that had quickened without his realisation. He took a step forward, but was stopped by an extended hand from Coran. The redheaded man shook his head. It was too much a risk to let them too close to one another, lest a rut or heat be triggered, and Keith was already well into his pre-heat. No one wanted for the two teenagers to sync.

“K-Keith?” Lance murmured. “Is that you?”

The room smelled sweet, likely from Keith’s pre-heat. It was too subtle for Coran to pick up on, but there was a clear possessiveness from Shiro and what looked like a mild arousal from Lance, and – just earlier that day – Hunk politely excused himself from Keith’s company. There was once a time when Keith would have lacked embarrassment, but now he constantly wondered what the others intentions were and whether he led them on. He was scared.

Lance tried to turn in his bed, but he cried out in pain. The bandaged wrists were mostly healed, while the pods recovered much of the blood lost, but the skin was still scarred and sore and his body still relatively weak. He turned his head instead. Those blue eyes looked over to Keith with unshed tears, while his lips pulled into a trembling smile, and it was hard to reconcile his abuser with the young man he once loved. It was _impossible_ to recognise how someone could instil such terror and yet look so terrified. Lance whispered:

“You – You can come closer, Keith.”

“No,” said Shiro. “He can’t.”

“I’m in pre-heat,” admitted Keith. “Thanks to you, we’re fucking mated. If we get too close, you’ll trigger a heat in me and you’ll go into a rut. Seeing as you can’t keep your hands to yourself at the best of times, I guess they figured it’s safer not to chance us being in sync and both being in heightened states of arousal. It makes it hard to think clearly, you know.”

“You’ll –!” Lance winced as he tried to sit upright. “You’ll still go into a heat, anyway. Look, I’m not due my rut for another three months, but if I go into a rut now with you -? At least you’ll be sated. You’ll not be able to sate yourself with your hand anymore.”

“Lance,” spat Shiro. “You did not just –”

Coran dove before Shiro. Two gloved hands pressed against a chiselled chest, and they all knew that – if Shiro wanted – he could have knocked Coran aside with ease, but his respect for the older Altean was high. Shiro stepped back. He took in a deep breath, with hands raised to tent before his mouth, before he dropped his hands to his hips and looked with a deep glare over to Lance, who curled in on himself. Fear. There was a reason why alphas tended to be paired with beta or omega partners in the workplace, as only one could be in charge:

“You are _not_ his mate,” spat Shiro.

Lance turned his head, so that he could gaze upward. Tears silently streamed from the corners of his eyes and onto the pillow, where they left small stains, and Coran – ever sensitive to those in pain – made to step forward to wipe away those same tears, at least before he caught himself and paused with hand midair. The quiet between them lingered. Coran eventually heaved a sigh, as he pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and gently deposited it beside Lance’s head, before he returned to his position by the door. Lance whispered:

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it?” Shiro folded his arms. “He might be your mate, but you are _not_ his and you do _not_ have a right to his body. Even if you were both mated together, that doesn’t give you a right to expect him to relieve your ruts. That relief is a _privilege_ and not a right. Tell me, Lance, how did you mean it? You raped Keith. You mated him. Those are the actions of a man that sees him as an object to be possessed. Is that it?”

“I – I just – I made a mistake, okay!” Lance wept in earnest. “I – I can’t undo what I did, I know that! I just . . . I _love_ Keith, honestly, but he was always with you and you were always this constant competition and Keith kept showing me up . . . I was meant to be his alpha, but I was always in an omega’s shadow. I just wanted to . . . prove my worth.”

“Your worth?” Keith asked. “You raped me to be worthy?”

“It’s hard being an alpha. I – I wasn’t a natural leader like Shiro or strong like Hunk, plus everyone kept teasing me for the fact I only got on my course because an _omega_ dropped out, and then that same omega didn’t even remember my name! I just . . . I wanted to prove I was stronger and a real alpha, and I wanted to make my mark, because.  . .”

The words trailed away into silence. A stab of pain ripped through Keith, as he doubled over and realised that so much was because of his actions, and yet he knew he wasn’t to blame, even as his success caused such jealousy from Lance. He struggled to breathe, as Coran placed a hand on his shoulder and rubbed light circles with his thumb, and he wondered whether other omegas would have changed their behaviour . . . lost on purpose in games, worked less hard on exams, catered to the alphas around them . . .

He didn’t want to change his entire person, pretending to be less than what he was in order to protect the egos of alphas, and yet being himself only ever brought pain . . . expulsion, arguments, _rape_ . . . he swallowed hard and forced back a large lump in his throat. He grew dizzy, unable to focus with blurred vision, but he forced himself to stay upright. Coran paced back and forth, until he finished Lance’s thought for him with a whispered:

“Because you didn’t want Shiro to claim him.”

Lance raised his hands to his face. He pressed his palms into his eyes, as he sobbed and muttered incoherent phrases, and – as Keith watched him wracked with pain – Lance soon smiled a smile so shaky and trembling that it almost frightened them. His cheeks were flushed red, while his mussed hair was far beyond what he usually allowed, and his usually perfect appearance was long gone. Keith barely recognised his voice when he spoke.

“I didn’t want to always be second-best.”

“So – So you wanted to come first?” Keith asked. “Okay, fine. Well done! My body now recognises you as its mate. I can’t be around you without out heats and ruts syncing up, and I can’t be around you in pre-heat lest I go into a heat, and no one else will be able to sate my heats. Fine, you come first. Still, I – I’m not going to let you win. I may be your mate, but Shiro’s right that you’re not mine. You don’t own me. I’ll – I’ll move on.”

“Keith’s right.” Shiro let out a staggered breath. “The worst part about this is the trauma, as well as the fact he can never marry, but . . . laws change. Hell, even if those laws don’t change, he can still have a child with someone else, just like he can still mate them and sate them and have them sync to his cycle. He can still have a family and full life.”

“A life without _you_ , Lance,” spat Keith. “I – I can’t sleep without seeing you in my nightmares. I never liked skin-to-skin contact anyway, but now it’s like glass being ground into my flesh. Any time an alpha moves, I flinch. _You did that_. Why?”

“You make it sound like I broke you,” choked Lance.

“You fucking _did_ break me! Now I’m going to have to spend the rest of my life putting the pieces back together, and – worst of all – I’ll . . . I-I’m going to have to explain to people why my fucking _life-partner_ is mated to me, when I’m not mated to them. Even if I hide it, because it’s not as though they can tell who made a mark . . . I – I’ll know.”

Keith fell forward. Shiro caught him with two strong arms, as he buried his face into his hands and buried those against Shiro’s chest, and he hated himself . . . he hated himself for showing weakness before Lance, as if somehow it was proof that Lance has ‘won’, but most of all he hated himself for being so hurt and pained. He was meant to be the strong one, the one that made Lance so jealous. Now, he was weak. Keith scrunched closed his eyes, while Coran moved to Lance’s beside and sat beside him to mop away his tears.

“I hope you’re glad, lad,” said Coran coldly. “That mark will never be erased.”

“I – I didn’t think about the future,” whispered Lance.

“No, you didn’t!” Keith screamed. “I never slept with Shiro! I – I always liked Shiro, but I wasn’t fucking _cheating_ on you with him! I just wanted a commitment. I wasn’t giving you an ultimatum, but I couldn’t wait around forever either for you to make up your mind what the fuck you wanted! Yeah, Shiro was offering me marriage and children, while you were constantly starting fights and running off with Hunk or Coran, and . . .

“You know the funny thing? I would have slept with you. I would have mated with you. I actually really liked you, and I was just waiting for you to like me back, but then you decided to beat me so hard that you scarred my back. My – My back was shredded . . . if I can ever move past this . . . if I can ever recover . . . I’ll have to know that Shiro or whomever will have to look at those scars and know. It’s – It’s a constant fucking reminder. You _stole_ everything from me, even when I was willing to freely give it to you. Why?

“You – You aren’t the fucking victim here! You aren’t! You don’t get to spin me a sob story about how awful you felt, because the fact is that we all have trauma! You – You – You don’t know what Shiro went through on the Galra ship or the abuse he endured, but he doesn’t force himself on me or others. He – He’s a good . . . a good person. I thought you were, too, but this isn’t just a ‘mistake’. This is something you purposely chose to do. You chose this.”

“If – If you hate me,” sobbed Lance, “why are you here?”

“Why are _you_ here?” Keith cried out until his voice was hoarse. “All I had left was the hope that there might be some justice . . . that you might be tried in court or rehabilitated with therapy or – or – or _something_ , but you were willing to tear all that away. You didn’t care how this would make me feel so much worse, how I’d blame myself, how I’d never get closure or to hear your side of the story . . . you didn’t give a shit!”

“I – I just . . . I just c-couldn’t cope!” Lance wept. “I – I can’t get what I did out my head. It’s – It’s this guilt that’s killing me, and everyone hates me . . . they all hate me . . . I – I have no future and I have nowhere to do and I just – I just despaired! It’s too much pain, Keith. I don’t . . . I can’t . . . it’s like this black hole inside me . . . this emptiness . . . I can’t. . .”

“So I have to live with it _every fucking day_ , but you get an easy out?”

Keith clenched hard against Shiro’s shirt. He held tight, until he could steady his breathing, but his throat ached and grew sore until every move of his tongue or swallow of saliva brought great pain. It took all his strength to let go, but soon he abandoned his rock and turned to face Lance. He forced a smile, as he wiped away tears and looked at the man who broke him and beat him so badly just days previous. Coran looked conflicted, torn between leaving Lance and attending to him. Keith almost pitied him, as he looked back to Lance.

“I guess I ought to thank you,” spat Keith.

There was an awkward silence, as Coran froze with handkerchief poised near Lance’s face, while Shiro drew in a sharp and heavy breath. The scent from Lance started to change, proof their close proximity – even out of touching distance – was enough to trigger an oncoming rut, while Shiro’s scent clung to the air and intensified with the perceived threat. Keith looked between both men and moved to stand beside Shiro’s side, taking his hand in his and squeezing to find some small relief in the absolute terror before him.

“Thanks for showing me who you really are.” Keith clenched his free hand into tight fists. “I might have really fallen from you, maybe even been serious with you, but all that time – deep inside – there’d have been this monster just waiting to come out . . . God knows what I’d have done had we been married or had kids or years of investment . . .”

“Keith, I swear I’ll –”

“We’re done, Lance. I will never – _ever_ – forgive you for this. I’m glad you didn’t die, because I get to fucking say to your face how much I hate you. If you want to kill yourself now? Fine. Go ahead and do it. I won’t be guilty, because that’s _your_ choice.”

Keith looked one last time to Lance. He walked outside, pulling Shiro along by his hand, until they were outside in the hallway and making some progress towards Shiro’s room, where Keith – afraid to be along, prone to nightmares – crashed beside him at night. They stopped a few feet from the door. Keith listened to his heart race loud in his ears, while the adrenaline rush from before finally ran out of his blood. He nearly fell faint.

The anger and guilt and shame and confusion all boiled inside, this time without the adrenaline to keep him on foot, and – rather than collapse under the weight of his emotions – he let out a wail of absolute grief and let go of Shiro at last.  He clenched his fist. Rage bled out from every orifice, until – with a scream – he turned and punched the wall, oblivious to anyone around him and his surroundings. Blood dripped from his knuckles, as he laughed emptily and hysterically to himself, until muscled arms wrapped around him.

The pain gave way to relief.


	7. Chapter 7

“H-Help me, Shiro,” begged Keith.

Shiro winced. The bedroom was now a shared space; a small pillow sat at the bottom end of the bed, along with an extra blanket, and both were wrinkled and strewn about unlike Shiro’s perfectly made sheets and pillow at the opposite end. There was a jacket draped on the back of a chair, but extremely few personal possessions or attire. It was almost like having an entire room unto himself, aside from the occasional ice cold foot against his shoulder.

The only issue came from the pre-heat. It started with just a constant sweetness in the air, like a cloying perfume or strong cologne, and Shiro would sometimes be caught stealing extra minutes in the shower, unable to resist some form of release. He endured, but soon came the full heat and with that the sheer temptation. The scent was extreme. It filled every corner of the bedroom and saturated his clothing, until that – even on training drills – Hunk commented upon the smell of his clothes and asked him politely to change. It was too much.

He could finally understand how it would trigger a rut with a mate or an unmated alpha, as it left him with a constant arousal as things stood, but – were Keith to mark him – he imagined it would be enough to send him into an instant rut. He was hot. The bodysuit clung to his skin with sweat, while he listened to his heart pound in his chest, and the scent was so strong, so sweet . . . like melted chocolate and fresh fruit . . . he scrunched closed his eyes.

“No, Keith,” said Shiro in a strained voice.

Shiro swung his legs over the side of the bed. He clasped his hands between his knees, while he looked down to Keith who was already knelt upon the floor, and – with blown pupils and flushed red cheeks – he crawled over between Shiro’s legs. It was a deeply erotic sight, as he placed warm hands on firm thighs and stroked broad circles that stopped just short of anywhere indecent. Keith parted his lips. They looked so moist and so plump. . .

It was too much a temptation; Shiro took a strong hold of those wrists, pausing to consider what it would be like to give into desire, before – with a slightly too firm hold – pushed his friend’s hands away from him and dropped them onto Keith’s lap. The young man was clad only in an old shirt of Shiro’s, which barely reached to the end of his white boxers. He bore a heavy sweat, while the rich scent of slick seemed to saturate his underwear and behind, and Shiro bit the inside of his lip to hold back a groan. He drew in a deep breath.

“Don’t you want me?” Keith whispered.

“Do _you_ want me, Keith?”

Keith flinched at the question. He looked to the floor with blue-grey eyes, while he toyed with the hem of his shirt, and – as he stared with tears half-formed – Shiro caught sight of an impressive erection that strained at his undergarments. Shiro tore his gaze away out of respect; he fixated on Keith’s eyes, unwilling to take advantage of his state by letting his eyes linger, but it was then that Keith looked up to him.

“Keith?” Shiro asked. “Are you okay?”

The scent grew heavy in the air; Shiro heard only silence in the hallway, with the occasional sound of snoring from Hunk’s room, and he gnawed at his lip as he pondered finding Coran for some sort of medical intervention, but then he saw the pain. Keith was in tears. They ran down his cheeks, leaving silver trails in their wake, before he finally broke and wept on the floor before Shiro. The sound broke something primal inside Shiro, who loathed seeing him in pain, and he blinked away tears in turn. Keith choked out in a low voice:

“I – I just want the heat to stop.”

Shiro dropped to the floor. He wasted no time in sweeping Keith into his arms, holding him against his chest, and buried his nose into black hair, as he breathed deep and cried alongside Keith as the teenager moaned and choked through his pain. They stayed locked together in silence, as Keith clung to his black undershirt and muttered incomprehensible apologies, and Shiro lifted his head and gazed up at the ceiling with a broken smile. He asked:

“Would you believe me if I said I understood?”

“Yeah, I honestly would,” mumbled Keith.

“I know how hard the first heat or rut can be.” Shiro drew in a shuddered breath. “I was _devastated_ when I escaped the Galra and had my first rut. Even now, I’m terrified because I know I can’t hold it back for long. I know at least one of us needs to be clear-headed, and I . . . I remember. I remember what those ruts were like, when they would take advantage . . .

“They were fascinated by my ruts. It started off that they tried to breed me with other creatures to create stronger warriors, always forcing me when I refused, and then fascinated that – even with my mind so hazy and burning with arousal – I could still have some self-control and still fight back. At a certain point, they gave up with trying to cross-breed us. They gave up forcing me to rape others. I was sold to Sendak instead. He – He _owned_ me.

“I – I think the worst part is that he always made me come. I felt dirty and used, like I was nothing more than a whore or worse . . . a pet . . . a slave . . . an _object_. The first rut I had when I escaped -? I scrubbed my skin raw. It was like I was reliving everything that happened all over again, but this time I was in control and I was so scared of _losing_ that control.”

“You don’t have to be afraid,” said Keith. “I trust you.”

“I’m glad you do, because I don’t think I ever learnt to trust myself.” Shiro sighed and wiped at his eyes. “I know that an erection can’t be helped during a rut, and even when I wasn’t in a rut and got one . . . that was just a natural part of being forcibly touched, but I still blame myself every time. Did I ask for it? Did I enable it? Why did I react like I did?”

Shiro flinched, as he held Keith tightly against him. The sound of Hunk’s snoring – as he slept with an open door – echoed about the hallways, while Coran’s footsteps would always pause for a moment outside their door, as he made regular rounds to check upon Lance. It was nice to be surrounded by people, yet Shiro never felt more alone, and he clung to Keith in a desperate desire to be grounded to something and someone. He sniffed through his tears and drew in the deep scent from Keith, while he fought back his arousal.

“I couldn’t even so much as touch myself for the longest time,” admitted Shiro. “I was too ashamed; it brought back too many memories of what happened, as if I were reliving it, and it felt . . . well . . . _wrong_ to get pleasure from something that once wrought me such pain. I struggled to put the two together, but worse was the idea of finding relief with another. I thought I would never be able to touch or be touched again. I felt used. Broken.”

“I tried – ah – you know,” muttered Keith with a blush. “It – It doesn’t work! It’s true what they say, that only the person who mated you can sate you, but . . . I – I thought maybe being with you might help, because you wanted to be my mate anyway, and . . . does – does that make me some sort of slut? I was fucking _raped_ , but I still want –”

“It makes you human, Keith. It makes you a human with needs; it’s okay to want those needs fulfilled, but it doesn’t make you a bad person just because you’re reacting differently to me or others. There’s no set guidebook on how you should act. There’s just _you_.”

“I just want to take back control. I need to be in control again.”

“You can’t replace one memory with another, Keith.”

Keith rocked back and forth with his cries. Shiro bit into his lip, knowing that any touch right now would make him as bad as Lance, and so – with a taste of blood, heart racing in fear – he scooped Keith up bridal-style and gently laid him onto the bed. There was a high-pitched keen from Keith, who crawled from his end of the bed up to Shiro’s, and instinctively rested his head upon the pillow that would be saturated with an alpha’s scent.

It was a difficult sight to watch; Keith completely lost his stoicism and reserved nature, instead giving into self-pleasure as he worked the blanket between his legs, and – stretching it into a tight line by wrapping two ends around his fists and feet – ground into it while breathing deep the scents from the pillow. He was flushed red. He moaned. Shiro scrunched closed his eyes, afraid to sit beside Keith, but soon sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to stroke sweat-soaked hair with a sad smile. Keith begged in a broken voice:

“Why can’t I have one good experience to go with the bad?”

“When _you_ want it, when _you_ feel ready, you can have all the good experiences that you want,” promised Shiro. “If you’re trying to regain control, the best way to do that is by processing what you feel and learning to cope with your trauma. Live life on your terms. If you just try to ‘show him’ by sleeping with someone else, you’ll only feel guilty in the long-run, and I’ve seen some people use sex as a crutch with one partner after another.”

“I – I don’t think I’d do that.” Keith furrowed his brow. “It’s just one time, right? It’s just one time to make the heat go away. If you stay with me you’ll go into a rut, so this will benefit both of us . . . it’ll help us both, Shiro, please! I’m begging you, Shiro.”

“You’re not thinking straight. You admitted yourself that nothing you do – or I’ll do – will relieve the heat. Sure, sex can still be a great intimacy and feel good, but you won’t get that earth-shattering orgasm you’re chasing after . . . all you’ll get is a need for more and more, and you’ll be sleeping with me for the wrong reasons if what you want is relief.”

Keith wept in earnest. The heat would soon leave him in great pain, unable to come and unable to stave off his arousal, and – while he could enjoy sex for the sake of sex – Shiro knew that any physical intimacy would mentally break his friend. It would be an intense three to five days, especially as Keith was already writhing and weeping, but suitable heat suppressants were hard to come by in space. Shiro blinked away tears.

He climbed into bed beside Keith, sliding down enough to lie behind him. Keith automatically rolled to face him; hands clamoured to remove his undershirt and loose trousers, but Shiro grasped his hands together and forced him to wait. A few seconds passed by, as Keith panted and gasped for breath. Eventually, Keith pulled away. He fell flat on his back, where he stared up at the ceiling with glassy eyes, and kicked at the sheets with his feet while he clawed at the pillow above his head, arching his back.

They shared a few heats and ruts during the Garrison; never going so far as to touch one another, but always comfortable enough to see each other flushed and writhing, before the one affected would head for the bathroom and the other would promise to stay away, just to avoid anything untoward. Even when they synced up, sometimes sharing the same room for company, neither would cross that line. It was why Keith’s next words were a surprise:

“Lance thought we were fucking.”

Shiro froze. The words stung when he always aimed for absolute chivalry, as if Lance were in the room personally accusing him of the worst betrayal imaginable, and – having known how Lance felt for Keith – the idea of an affair made him sick. It seemed total honesty backfired. Shiro rolled onto his back and reached out for Keith’s hand, intertwining their fingers and clasping their hands between them, as he pursed his lips and admitted in a quiet voice:

“I would have slept with you, if you left him.”

“Yeah, I made a mistake telling him that,” continued Keith with a sniff. “I wanted total honesty, because everyone said that was so important, and I thought because you let me talk about anything without judgement that he’d be the same. I was wrong.”

“I always regretted not fighting for you more.” Shiro swallowed hard as his rut began in earnest. “I – I left for the Kerberos mission knowing you liked me, even if it was just like a brother, but I always wondered whether those feelings would grow or change over time, and I promised myself I’d ask you on a real date when I came back, but then -? I don’t know. I was too wrapped up with my trauma, and when I finally felt ready to ask you -?”

“I was dating Lance,” whispered Keith. “It was too late.”

“I know I should have stayed out of it, but I needed you to know that I was willing to give you what he never could.” Shiro writhed where he lay, as a sweat broke over him. “I just wanted some closure, which I thought would come by leaving the choice in your hands, but then Lance grew jealous. I – I never thought he would go that far. I never –”

The words died on his lips. Keith rolled onto his back, before pulling up his legs to rest on all fours, and – as he lowered his head to rest on his forearms – his back arched beautifully until his shirt slid down to reveal a slither of scarred skin. The boxers were so wet with slick that they were almost transparent, and Shiro could see the cleft to his buttocks and the darkness to his hole to absolute perfection. The scent was rich and heavy, while Keith turned his head to make direct eye contact with Shiro, mouth open into an ‘O’. Shiro gasped:

“I – ah – need to go . . . er . . .”

Shiro sat upright and swung his legs around. He struggled to climb over the side of the bed, as Keith strove to press his behind against him, and the scent – so impossibly strong – was like catching the aroma of freshly baked cookies after a long enforced fast. Shiro was already rock hard, when he stumbled to his feet and walked to the other side of the room, unable to clear his head with the scent so strong. Keith asked in a low voice:

“Want the room to yourself?”

“No.” Shiro shook his head. “If you bunk with Hunk, it’d just trigger his rut, too. I don’t think Katie would be able to cope with something like this at her age, and – while I trust Coran and Allura with my life – I know you would hate for them to see you this way. If you’re alone, you’ll just stress yourself out with the lack of relief.”

“I – I know they say omegas and alphas h-have self-control, but – _fuck_ – I never had a heat this intense before,” mewled Keith. “I . . . I hate him . . . I hate him for doing this to me, because I – I don’t deserve this . . . I don’t. I don’t! Please, make it stop?”

“Keith, I’m going to lock the bedroom door,” said Shiro in a firm voice. “I’m then going to lock myself in the bathroom; that way we can still talk and be close, but we’ll have a barrier to provide a reminder that giving in is not an option. I’ll have Coran deliver meals to the room, maybe ask if – ah – he has some . . . toys . . . it’s _not_ a conversation I ever want to have, but – trust me – those help a huge amount during ruts and heats.”

Keith laughed low, as he collapsed back onto his side. He pulled one leg upward, while he slid a hand down to his boxers, and – as Shiro followed the movement – he saw how that impressive erection strained at the material, staining the white with pre-come. Shiro threw back his head and scrunched shut his eyes, as he fought away tears, and listened to how his pulse pounded in his ears. Keith moaned, as he ran his hand over the outside of his erection, before the laughter came again and he rolled onto his front, only to rut against the mattress.

“Why are you laughing?” Shiro asked.

“I had heats before this,” said Keith. “Sure, they help. They _don’t_ help when you’re no longer an unmated omega, though, and your body is crying out to be fucking _bred_. It’s like I just really need that knot and to be filled with come and just _fucking_ made to –”

“Whoa, wait a minute. Say that again?”

Keith turned with a dark frown. It was all the proof that Shiro needed that he retained some semblance of understanding, as well as self-control, and soon Keith sat cross-legged on the bed with a dark stare aimed directly at Shiro. It was as if a lightbulb went off within Shiro's mind; connection after connection was made, as he struggled to hold back his hope and focus upon Keith. There was judgement upon Keith's expression, so oblivious to what he wanted and not _who_ he wanted, before that familiar confidence was wiped away with something akin to fear. Shiro winced at the realisation that his closest friend misinterpreted his words. He pressed himself against the far wall, while he raised his hands in mock surrender to reassure Keith. Keith muttered:

“I didn’t take you for a pervert.”

“I’m serious.” Shiro blushed. “You have an urge to be knotted, right?”

“What about it, Shiro? I’m pretty sure that’s normal.”

“Yes, but what _isn’t_ normal is for someone to be sexual with someone outside of their mate, right? In olden times, if you forcefully mated someone then you were by law made to be married and cohabitate. In modern days, _no one_ forces a mate bond and – the extreme few that do – usually end with the victim being celibate or committing suicide from the stigma and being unable to wed by law, right? Right?” Shiro paused. “ _Right_?”

“Right. Right! Sure, right. Whatever.”

“Prisoners – even on death row – get conjugal visits,” continued Shiro. “No one ever remarries or finds a new mate. No one even tries. Science has proven your bond mark is absolutely irreversible; it changes your scent, induces heats and ruts that require a partner to be sated, and you fall into a sync with your partner instead of one falling in line to the other. Now, listen to me, how much of this is just the _assumption_ only that one mate can sate you? It’s natural to fall into a sync; _we_ did that during the Garrison, Keith, we weren’t bonded.”

“So . . . what . . . you’re saying it’s just semantics? That people invented this ‘creating a new rhythm and syncing together’ to make it sound more special? Wow. Fucking wow. Shiro, please, I _really_ need you to help me out here. I’m – I’m boiling alive. I’m –”

“Look, I’m saying it’s _possible_ you can be sated by an alpha. I’m still not going to test that theory this time around, as you’re not capable of giving full consent, but I don’t think science has ever even tested this hypothesis or looked into it, and the ‘common knowledge’ has been taken as an absolute given since the dawn of time. I’m saying it’s possible for you to mate me, giving me a ‘taken’ scent, and maybe we can have a normal relationship.”

Keith swung his legs around the bed and sat on the edge. There was a visible wet path on the mattress where he’d sat and moved, as the slick continued to leak from his behind, and his body was so red that Shiro knew he would become dehydrated. He made a mental note to ask Coran for many water patches, as well as to alert him to how much water an omega needed during a heat and how much would be lost, but – in the meantime – he relished how desperate and aroused Keith looked, committing it to permanent memory.

“Seriously?” Keith asked.

The expression he wore changed almost imperceptibly; those blue-grey eyes widened, while his lips parted enough to reveal a hint of a tongue, and he looked to Shiro with something close to hope and desire in equal measure. Shiro smiled back and fought back his fear, before he ran a hand through his hair and nervously pondered the ramifications of what he was about to say aloud for the first time. He heard how his voice broke and said:

“If it’s true, we could technically get married, too.”

“How? You weren’t the one to bite me.”

“How would anyone know?” Shiro smiled and licked at his lips. “If – _only if_ – I’m right, it means that we could both present as ‘mated’ with bite-marks and ‘taken’ pheromones, able to fully sate one another and syncing up, but there’s no scientifically proven way of knowing who actually delivered the bite-mark. The only way people ‘know’ is because it’s such a sacred bond that people never think to lie, it’s just a given that their body knows their mate.”

“So – So you’re telling me that _no one_ from the dawn of time until now worked that out? Shiro, come on. Do you know how unlikely that is? I – I just . . . sure my cravings are just to be filled, b-but I imagine – at some point in time – someone tried to mate someone else’s omega, only to realise that – hey – guess who’s finally sated? It can’t be true.”

“To touch someone else’s mate was punishable by death,” said Shiro. “The law was only revoked thirty or forty years ago, and now there’s such a stigma about it that it’s still considered a legitimate defence in cases of violent crime. No one dares try, Keith.”

“Okay, so why don’t _we_ try? Please, I need –”

“You can’t consent like this.”

Keith groaned until it became a growl; he threw himself back against the sheets, before he crawled up into bed and pulled Shiro’s pillow to him, and – with a dark glare – looked to Shiro as if he were somehow the villain in the piece. Shiro sighed with pity. He pulled off his shirt, soaked with sweat and unmated pheromones, and threw it across to Keith who caught it with one hand and brought it to his nose. The scent provided an emotional comfort, if not a physical one, as he softened his gaze and asked in a kind voice:

“There’s hope for my future heats, though?”

Shiro said through tears of relief:

“We finally have hope.”


	8. Chapter 8

Silence.

Shiro looked around the room to see anxious faces; Pidge sat cross-legged on the floor, with eyes hidden behind large glasses, while Hunk sat hunched over on the sofa behind her, as he clasped his hands between his legs with a half-smile. He heaved a long sigh. The two of them stared at him with fixated gazes, both slightly pale, and he could see the heavy bags beneath Hunk’s eyes that spoke of severe exhaustion. It broke his heart to see.

No one said a word, as he walked across the room. He took a seat opposite them, where he folded his legs and arms with another exhale of breath, and – as he looked up to the ceiling with an absent expression – the silence grew more and more awkward. It was relatively warm within the lounge, while the scent of breakfast still drifted through the open doors, and it was almost enough to get his mouth watering as he fought back mild dehydration. He hated how hot his skin became, while his pheromones still lingered with a faint scent of sweat.

“So – er – how was the rut?” Hunk asked.

Shiro flushed red.  He looked to see a faint blush on Pidge’s cheeks, as she gazed off at an invisible spot on the wall, while Hunk leaned forward a little with a grin that looked all too conspiratorial, and reminded Shiro too much of locker room conversations. He sighed and ran his hand over his face and neck, before his fingers lingered over his scent glands. No bite. No bruise. No bond. It was an empty sensation, like a part of him was missing, and yet he smiled with downcast eyes at the good and bad memories of the past few days.

“Keith’s virtue is still intact,” promised Shiro.

“I – ah – er – t-that’s not what I meant,” squeaked Hunk. “H-Honest!”

“No, it’s fine, Hunk.” Shiro looked to him with a smile. “I know it’s what everyone worried about, but it’s honestly absolutely fine. The biggest problem is that it’s true what they say: a mated omega’s heat triggers on _hell_ of a rut in unmated alphas. I nearly gave into his advances some nights, but we did nothing more than talk through the bathroom door.”

“You know, I always found that kind of odd,” interrupted Pidge. “I know it’s common knowledge that a mated omega or alpha releases a ‘taken’ scent, but I never got why it’d trigger a heat or rut in _unmated_ people? What would be the biological reason?”

“Well, I kind of have a theory?” Hunk scratched at his neck and shrugged. “I mean – like – if we take this from a _genetic_ viewpoint it makes sense to spread your genes out to as wide a variety of people as possible, right? You don’t want to attract mated people, because – well – you’d just be starting fights and then you wouldn’t know who’s the parent of which baby, because all these different mates are screwing around with just about everyone.

“If you attract an unmated person, then mate _them_ , eventually you kind of end up with a harem-style set-up, I guess. I have heard theories that humans weren’t meant to be monogamous, and it’s actually more beneficial for that kind of lifestyle to prevent like inbreeding or something? I don’t know, man, I’m not an anthropologist.”

“So we’re taking it as a given that Shiro’s theory is right?”

Shiro looked down at his hands. Laws were exceptionally harsh over history, so it was hardly as if it was a theory that could have been tested, and – were it ever tested – he doubted any couple would be brave enough to voice that aloud. He still caught the scent of Keith on his clothes; the slick had gotten everywhere, soaking sheets and floors, and Shiro was sure his bedroom and wardrobe would be scented as ‘Keith’ for some time to come. It was as if he were Keith’s mate and not merely a potential partner. He chanced a quiet:

“We’re taking it as a given that it’s a _possibility_.”

They sat in relative silence once more. Pidge grabbed at a portable computer, before rapidly typing and bringing up various images of DNA samples and chemical compounds taken from the scent glands, and Shiro wondered – as the screen flashed and flickered – what his theory would mean for Earth society if proven true. It could revolutionise how relationships were perceived, potentially opening up an era of sexual freedom unknown to anyone but betas.

There was a bustle of movement from in the hallway outside, where Shiro picked out voices of Allura and Keith, and – as if reminded of their friend by voice alone – Hunk leaned forward and raised his hand to shield his mouth. Shiro smiled, especially to see Hunk blush and look around as if afraid of being caught gossiping about some terrible secret. It was easy to forget that Hunk and the others were still young, still virginal to his knowledge, and he shook his head in amusement that Keith’s heat was treated like some state secret.

“So,” said Hunk. “How _is_ Keith?”

“Embarrassed and dehydrated,” admitted Shiro. “It was difficult. I think he’s immensely relieved we never did anything more than talk; there’s still a sense of shame there, as if he doesn’t deserve to be touched or loved, as if he’s . . . sullied. I hugged him at one point, damned near induced a panic attack. It’s all too much to process. I think it threw him for a loop, but I think – with time and support – he’ll cope much better with his next one.”

“If he still doesn’t have a mate, I doubt it,” muttered Pidge. “If what they say is true, too, that only the person you mate can sate you . . . we could end up being on suicide watch. I know you can’t rush relationships and he’s recovering and all, but do you think it’d be better to work out whether you’re right and – well – have him mate you if it does have some basis?”

“Whoa,” said Hunk. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! I know betas are all cavalier about relationships and all, but – even if Shiro’s theory is right – that’s a _huge_ commitment! We’ll have a mated omega and alpha onboard, so they’ll sync up and – you know – be doing stuff and –”  

“And that’s a conversation I’ll be having with _Keith_ ,” said Shiro.

“Well, have it sooner rather than later,” replied Pidge.

They sat in silence, as Shiro processed their words. He saw how Pidge’s expression fell, with her lips downturned into a frown, and – as she flicked through the various medical reports – he knew she likely heard of the virtual agony Keith endured for parts of his heat. Shiro ran a hand through his hair and blinked away tears; the temptation to be mated by Keith was strong, but he knew all too well the trauma endured and the damage that haste could do to the recovery process. He swallowed back his pain. Pidge gnawed upon her lip.

Hunk made to speak before the door opened.

All three heads turned to see Keith entering the lounge. He kept his head low and stared at the floor, unable to meet the eyes of anyone within the room, and his cheeks were pale and drained of all colour, while his clothes hung from him from a loss of weight. Shiro half-stood, ready to go over to his friend, but Hunk reached out to place a hand on his arm, before he shook his head and sat back in his seat. It took every ounce of self-control that Shiro possessed to stay still, too desperate to comfort Keith and too desperate for something to do.

He waited until Keith came across the room, with hands shoved deep into his pockets, and – as the younger man threw himself unceremoniously upon the sofa – finally let out a breath he hadn’t realised had been held. Shiro watched as Keith draped his head on the back of the sofa, where he stared up at the ceiling with an impassive and cold expression. Pidge turned off the screens to her research, while Hunk hummed a strange tune. Keith asked:

“Did I come at a bad time?”

Hunk looked between Shiro and Keith. He bit at his lip until the skin turned white around his tooth, and his eyes narrowed into tight slits that wrinkled about the corners, and Shiro – looking to Pidge and seeing her pulling up maps – suspected some big news. Shiro slid his hand between himself and Keith, where he took the other’s hand and squeezed it tight. He let out a shuddered breath when Keith squeezed back, as he dropped forward a little as his muscles relaxed and he finally felt able to breathe. It was a relief to see him well.

“Actually,” mumbled Hunk. “Er, Pidge has something to tell you.”

“Wait, why me?” Pidge asked.

“Because _you’re_ the wordy one!” Hunk scratched his neck. “Coran and Allura are all busy with _the thing_ , and they asked us to tell them about _the thing_ , but it’s – well – a whole big thing and I’m no good with things! So – yeah – this one’s on you, pal.”

Pidge threw back her head with a groan. There was a nervous laugh from Hunk, who scratched at his neck and head, while he mumbled a few incoherent words and looked to Keith, but no sooner did he make eye contact did he look away again. It brought a small and almost imperceptible wince from Keith, who looked back up at the ceiling with an absent expression, and – for the first time – Shiro wondered how the trauma would affect Voltron, as he looked to Pidge and saw her bring up various pictures on a screen. Pidge said:

“They’re taking Lance to hospital.”

Shiro tensed his hold upon Keith’s hand. He listened to his heart race in his ears, while his mouth ran dry and his eyes watered, and he let out a shuddered breath, while his eyes fell upon the photographs of what looked like a medical building, only surrounded by gardens that were impossible to achieve upon Earth. Keith froze beside him. The fingers tightened around his hand until his knuckles ground together and he hissed in pain, but – as he looked to Keith – he saw nothing but a stark white face and lips pressed into a line.

“Wait,” said Shiro. “What?”

“It’s a space hospital,” chirped Hunk. “A good one!”

“It was Hunk and Coran’s idea,” admitted Pidge. “Coran found a hospital that specialises in rehabilitation of sexual crimes; I think the idea is that they treat underlying mental illnesses and traumas, in this case the reasons behind his suicide attempt, and – from there – build a solid foundation in which the person is confident and capable enough to address the crimes they committed. It looks like they focus on coping techniques and making amends.”

“Yeah, we’re hoping it – ah – helps him get better.” Hunk gave a nervous laugh. “Er, he won’t ever be back on the team, so don’t worry! We tried Allura and Coran in the Blue Lion, and it reacted pretty well to Allura, so . . . Allura is going to be the Blue Paladin. It’s just kind of weird, you know? I’ll miss Lance and yet I kind of won’t. It’s . . . hard.”

“He’ll be allowed visitors, but I’ve already cut all contact with him. I imagine Hunk and Coran will stop by on occasion, and Coran’s arranged for him a choice between Earth and a nearby planet once his rehabilitation is complete. He’ll leave next week.”

“If you want to say goodbye,” said Hunk, “now’s your chance.”

Keith came to life at those words. He threw himself upright, as he let go of Shiro’s hand. Every muscle in his body tensed and bulged, while he tightened his hands into tight fists and held them between his parted legs, and – with a shaking arm – raised one to point an accusatory finger toward Hunk. The other teenager raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, while he looked to Shiro for support. Shiro turned to reach out for Keith, but Keith shrugged him off and pushed away his hand with an all too aggressive gesture. Keith snapped:

“Why would I want to say goodbye?”

They sat in an awkward silence. Hunk looked away, his dark cheeks flushed red, but his apologetic expression did little to sate Keith, whose eyes were narrowed and shimmered with unshed tears. Shiro reached out again for Keith, but he once again pushed Shiro away and stood to his feet. He stood alone. Keith looked about the three of them with arms wide and palms exposed, as his eyes darted between them with a dangerous glare. Pidge chanced:

“It’ll be your last chance for closure.”

Keith shook his head, as he took a step back. He eyed the door, as if planning an escape route, and blinked away tears as he fisted his hands and caught his breath. Shiro stood, but maintained a space between them. He remembered all too well the shame after his first rut away from the Galra, where the shame of having been so sexual overcame him, and even so much as a single touch from one of his friends could cast him into a horrific flashback, unable to reconcile the safety of the present from the horrors of the past. Shiro kept back.

The aftermath of Keith’s heat was difficult on both men. It was painful to see him so hyperaware of his sexuality, as well as reliving the traumas he endured, and more painful still to be unable to get inside his head and help him. Shiro could only sit in amicable silence at times, but now all he could do was to watch as Keith paced back and forth. Keith buried his hands into his hair, before he turned and spat at the others:

“I have all the closure I need, thanks.”

Keith stormed away. The sound of his footsteps upon tiles echoed about the room, and Shiro got the impression – as he threw himself through the doors – that he wished for nothing more than the ability to slam the doors shut behind him. Shiro collapsed back onto the sofa. He buried his face into his hands and ran his fingers through his hair, as he swallowed back a painful lump from his throat. A tear ran from his eye, which he wiped away with the palm of his hand, while he forced a smile and looked to his friends. Pidge asked in a small voice:

“Is he going to be okay?”

“I think he’s looking for closure in the wrong places,” admitted Shiro. “He wants Lance to suffer the way he suffered, almost like revenge, but I don’t think he realises that revenge won’t undo his pain or erase the memories. I can understand him not wanting to speak to Lance, and I won’t lie and say that I think he should, but it’s still early days and the trauma is still fresh. We don’t seem to be moving forward and I’m worried.

“On the one hand, it’s still so early and he’s likely still in shock, but on the other hand I worry he might stagnate and just stay stuck in this state. I don’t know if he would talk to a counsellor, but – to be honest – I think I could benefit from talking to someone who was completely objective. Do you think Coran could find us someone? Like a therapist?”

“Found one already,” said Pidge. “We pencilled you and Keith in for separate sessions, but we made it for two weeks from now. Figured you’d want to talk about Lance leaving for hospital, or at least want some time to process that, but – yeah – it’s done.”

“Okay, so I guess that’s that then.”

Hunk said nothing, as Shiro struggled to compose himself. A part of him wished that he sought out a therapist far before this point; perhaps he wouldn’t have ejected Sendak into space, too afraid of his abuser and lost in flashbacks of the past, and perhaps – with professional help – Lance may never have resorted to abuse. Shiro ran a hand over his face, before he stood up and cricked his back. He forced a half-broken smile.

“I better go check on Keith,” said Shiro.

He slowly made his way over to the door, but stopped to look back at Pidge and the holographic computer screen before her. The images looked peaceful and beautiful, like an ideal place to rest one’s mind, but the languages were unrecognisable and some of the alien species represented weren’t even bipedal. Shiro let out a staggered breath, as he banged his hand a few times on the doorframe, waiting as he found the courage to ask a question that a small part of him didn’t wish to have answered. The air grew cold around him.

“Will Lance be okay?” Shiro asked.

“Does it matter?” Pidge spat.

It was a good question. Shiro allowed the door to open, where he watched Keith head back towards their bedroom, and – as he watched the younger man leave – he wondered how Lance would be coping under house-arrest in his room. It was difficult to process the grief of having lost what he once thought was a friend, but a small part of him still longed for Lance to make amends and repent and maybe learn from his mistake.

“Yeah,” whispered Shiro. “Yeah, it matters."


	9. Chapter 9

Keith jolted upright.

The sheets were soaked with sweat; they fell from his chest and pooled around him, as his hands clenched tight at the fabric enough for nails to rip cuts across them, and yet – as he gasped for breath – he could not tear his eyes from the pale blue. He struggled to see through the tears. They blurred his vision and stung his eyes, while the darkness of the bedroom did little to help orientate his position in the cold and dark space. A tear fell.

He ran trembling hands over his face, while a figure stirred beside him. Shiro murmured in his sleep. It was a light and quiet sound, soft and barely recognisable, but – as soon as Keith heard the noise – he wept . . . _he wept._ Keith hunched forward. He wrapped his arms around his legs, as he buried his face into his knees, and he listened to his heart pound in his ears, ever louder and louder until he feared it might burst. A dizzy spell overcame him. Keith swayed even where he sat, while a sensation like something crawling over him followed.

It was unbearable. The bile burned the back of his throat, while the walls moved closer and closer, and the castle ever smaller and smaller, until a pressure pounded on his chest, and the world grew dark . . . _pain, confusion, terror_. . . a scream stifled by his lips. A hand touched on his arm. Keith threw himself out of bed, where he stumbled on the smooth floor and fell to his knees, and gulped down large breaths of air. A broken laugh escaped his lips.

“You’re awake,” murmured Shiro.

_The sound of rustling sheets. A draught of air. Hands on his arms._

Keith wept, as someone pulled him to them. He caught the scent of Shiro’s cologne, as well as his natural alpha scent, and he wept and wept until his voice grew weak and his throat grew sore, while his body trembled until his muscles ached. Minutes passed. The tears soon ran dry, while the tension left his body and he was able to breathe one more, and – with gentle pats on his back from a callused hand – he looked up into Shiro’s eyes. Shiro cried in turn, with bloodshot eyes and reddened cheeks. Shiro whispered:

“Are you okay?”

Keith nodded and sniffed. Shiro let go just long enough to reach over to the bed, where he snatched at the blankets and brought them down, so that he could wrap them around their shivering forms and hold Keith close. Two arms wrapped around him, while Shiro parted his legs and allowed Keith to sit between them with his back pressed to a rough chest, and – as Keith dropped his head back – they remained in relative silence for a long few minutes. Shiro hummed an old tune, while he placed a chaste kiss to Keith’s forehead with a trembling smile.

“It’s been two weeks, Shiro,” muttered Keith. “When do the nightmares stop?”

“They don’t, Keith. They just become less frequent.”

Shiro gently offered Keith a hand, before guiding him to his feet. He let the blankets stay draped around them, while he led them back to the bed, and – as Keith climbed back onto the mattress – he noted how Shiro stayed perched on the edge. There was distance. He would angle his body towards Keith, with a smile on his lips and arms held wide open, but he would equally stay on the outside of the blankets and refused to climb under. Shiro whispered:

“I swear it –”

“– gets easier?” Keith laughed. “When? _When_ does it get easier?”

“I – I don’t know if it gets easier as such.” Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose. “Two weeks isn’t that long, Keith. I think it was a good few months until my nightmares started to ease off, and – if I’m honest – I kind of suspect they might always be there . . . what happened to me is a part of me, even if I wish it wasn’t. It’s like a scar on my psyche. _It’s there_.”

“I just want it to go away . . . I slept well last night, so I thought that maybe . . . I – I don’t know . . . I thought that maybe it would start to get better, but then he was _on_ me . . . _in_ me . . . I was _there_ , Shiro. It was so real that I was _there_ , but I – I wasn’t . . . was I?”

“You were here, Keith. You were with me. I – I wish I could just go into your mind and pluck away the pain, and you have no idea how much it kills me to see you suffer, but to be unable to do anything to fix things . . . I’m supposed to be the leader. I’m supposed to be your friend, your partner, but I . . . I’m just stuck watching you cry and unable to do anything except dry your tears. I can be here for you, though. I’m here, Keith. I’m here.”

Keith rolled onto his side. The tears streamed down his cheeks, until Shiro reached out toward him, and – pausing a few inches from his shoulder with a flinch – soon bridged the gap between them with a gentle squeeze, as if seeking to reassure him. The sweat and tears stung at Keith’s eyes, while his nose ran in an unattractive manner, and he laughed at the realisation that he actually cared, before he sobbed again in guilt at the laughter. The conflict tore at him until he curled in on himself with loud whines of pain. Shiro asked:

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The bed dipped, as Shiro crawled in beside him. Two firm arms were wrapped around him, pulling him close beneath the blankets, while Shiro buried his face into the crook of Keith’s neck, and together – with long breaths and a great deal of patience – they found a rhythm and basked in each other’s presence. Keith breathed long and deep, while he smiled and sighed as he finally relaxed and let Shiro comfort him. He said in a quiet voice:

“It’s like he’s still raping me even now.”

Shiro visibly flinched. Keith felt that breath stall at his neck, while Shiro’s body tensed to an extreme, and soon Keith rolled over so that they could meet each other’s eyes, where he could see the deep lines that appeared with the force of his frown. Keith reached out to stroke across the scar on his nose, where the sensation was numb and the memory strong, and a part of him felt almost grateful that his own were hidden on his back. He asked in a whisper:

“How did you get the nightmares to stop?”

“They still come, Keith,” confessed Shiro. “I find stress makes it worse. I – I think I relived a bit of my trauma through you, so I didn’t sleep at all for the first few nights, and then when Lance was taken to the hospital . . . I was conflicted all over again. It’s like my mind fixates on the bad whenever I feel bad, even though what I _need_ is reassurance. I think mind associates those negatives events with the trauma and it just – it just . . .

“It sends me right back. The best way I can describe it is like a chain of events, where I start feeling really bad and get reminded of that original trauma, and then my brain sends me right back to the start through a series of events, until I’m _in_ that moment again. I panic. I cry or scream or – well – get nightmares . . . Pidge arranged a therapist, though, and –”

“I don’t want to go to a therapist, Shiro,” mumbled Keith. “This – This _thing_ is inside me. I don’t even want to say it aloud to myself! I just want to forget about it, and I don’t see how I can forget about it when I’m forced to talk to a total stranger. How can I even trust them? I can’t even trust you and – and – and fucking Lance did that to me! He took away my ability to trust and I’m just . . . I’m broken. I’m broken and he’s holding all the pieces.”

“You’re not broken, Keith. You aren’t an object or a thing, but a real and living person. This – _all of this_ – is a part of you . . . it’s wrong, it’s unfair, and it sucks, but it’s a part of you and that’s why talking to an objective outsider can help. They can help you to process that.”

“I don’t want to process that. I want to forget it ever happened.”

“Will that bring you closure? Will that make it better?”

Shiro pressed a kiss to his forehead. Those lips were dry and chapped, while Keith remembered too many times since Shiro’s return where he woke with sweats and sobs, and now it seemed that both were destined to sleepless nights. Keith listened to the overall silence; no longer were there races on kitchen trays down the hallways at night, no longer was their laughter as midnight snacks were stolen, and instead there was only the absence of what once was theirs to share. Keith gnawed at his lip and blinked away tears.

A low hum came from the hallway, where Coran patrolled with a familiar tune, but otherwise there was nothing but the gentle hisses from Shiro’s nose, as he drew in breath after breath, along with the deep thrum of his heart against his chest. Keith nuzzled against him, seeking the warmth of a familiar body, even as every touch that slightly trailed . . . _even by that inch, that slight angle, the adding of pressure_. . . sent shivers of fear through him.

“Therapy doesn’t help everyone,” admitted Shiro.

Keith laughed and wiped at his eyes. They remained slightly blurred, until he squinted them tightly shut and reopened them with a fluttering of his eyelids, and he looked back to see how Shiro pursed his lips into a tight white line. Keith knew that Shiro held high hopes that therapy would work for them both, each with scheduled individual appointments, but he looked so pale and his eyes would not quite meet Keith’s.  Keith asked:

“So what’s even the point?”

“The point is that you give it a _try_ ,” said Shiro. “If it doesn’t work, we can try again with a different therapist or try again later in the future, and maybe you can even work on getting closure on your own or with your friends instead of through a therapist. I just think you should listen to what they have to say, because maybe . . . maybe it will help.”

“Could – Could you be there with me?”

“The first time? Sure.” Shiro smiled and wiped away a tear. “I think that it’ll be good for you to go alone once you feel you can trust them, though. You might have things you don’t want to say in front of me . . . maybe you’ll worry what I’ll think, or worry about hurting me, and – even if you could _never_ say anything to make me love you any less – sometimes these things are easier when you’re alone. This is about _you_ , though, so we go at _your_ pace.”

“Do you think therapy can work for Lance? Do you think he’s sitting there right now with some doctor and talking about everything that happened with me . . . how I cried, how I begged him to stop, how I _felt_ inside . . . he’s always going to carry that part of me with him, and I – I _don’t_ consent to that and I _don’t_ want other people knowing . . . I don’t . . .”

“You – You still have things left to give,” swore Shiro. “He will never know what it’s like for you to reciprocate, or know what it’s like when you laugh with the force of emotion, or cry with sheer happiness on release. You still have a lot that’s _yours_.”

“What if – What if this is it? What if I never recover?”

“I ask that same question myself every day.”

Shiro let loose a few tears. It was Keith’s turn to hug him in turn, as he took Shiro’s organic hand and clasped it between them, so that it rested above his heart, and – with a long breath – he threw his other arm around Shiro and held him tight. He pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, which flushed red and brought a soft chuckle to trembling lips. The dark room no longer seemed to close in on them, but instead gave them walls with which to protect them, and Keith nuzzled against Shiro with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Shiro whispered:

“You’re not alone, Keith.”

They lay in silence for a long few minutes, while the blankets warmed their bodies, and soon Coran’s familiar humming died away and loud yawns from Katie echoed out, so that they knew the new day was about to begin, but behind closed doors . . . together in bed . . . it was easy to believe there was no world out there beyond them. Keith winced to realise that soon he would have to go about his day . . . remembrances of Lance, remembrances of his rape. . .

Keith kept his back to the rest of the room. The very sight of the bedroom floor was enough to send a shiver through his spine, while his lower back ached with a familiar pain, as if his body remembered what it was like to endure that trauma. He clenched his hands and held ever tighter to Shiro, as he strove not to reach behind him to check for blood. Keith blinked rapidly and looked to Shiro, where he saw his own trauma reflected back at him, and – with a trembling smile and with the taste of salty tears – he swore a promise in turn:

“You’re not alone either, Shiro.”


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Chapter is Chapter Nine.

“You’re back late,” said Shiro.

He sat upright in bed, as he fluffed the pillows behind him. It was dark inside the bedroom, aside from the night-light that ran in a strip around the metallic walls, and the little illumination cast strange shadows about Keith’s person. Shiro smoothed out the blankets over his legs, while he looked over with a smile to his closest friend. There was a cool draught as the doors closed, which rustled Shiro’s long hair, and he pushed back a lock.

Keith looked to him with a smile; it brought creases to the corners of his eyes, as well as a blush to his cheeks, and he looked away from Shiro with a gnawing of his inner lip, still embarrassed by intimacy even after two shared ruts and heats. The mark on his neck was clear over the collar of his jacket, no longer hidden like a shameful secret, and it matched Shiro’s almost identical aside from a larger size. Shiro brought a hand to his neck and rubbed at the scar, slightly raised and directly above his scent gland. He laughed.

He still laughed when Keith – naked save for his boxers – crawled into bed beside him, and laughed all the more when he wrapped his arms around a svelte waist and flipped them over, so that he was flat upon his back and Keith sat astride him. The younger man narrowed his eyes into dark slits, before he let out a long exhale of breath and half-smiled in a way that sent shivers down Shiro’s spine. Keith stroked intricate patterns over Shiro’s scarred chest.

“Why are you laughing, Takashi?”

“I’m just happy,” admitted Shiro. “I thought I was too broken to be wanted after what I endured with Sendak. I thought I’d long lost my chance with you when you and Lance became a couple. I thought maybe a relationship would be the last thing you wanted after your trauma. I don’t know what brought us together, but I’m so glad it did.”

“I’ll admit I’m happy we’re together, too.” Keith furrowed his brow. “I just can’t get what Coran said out of my head, that how two broken people can’t fix each other. I just wanted to clear my head for a bit, because – well – a part of me thinks he’s right, you know?”

“Ah, Coran did say he was worried he upset you. I know he didn’t meant it how it sounded; he was just trying to warn you away from co-dependency, make sure that you had the confidence and self-esteem to stand on your own two feet, because . . . twice now I’ve been taken from you, twice you’ve coped less than well. You were expelled the first time, and Coran said you were nearly suicidal this time around, but if it ever happens that –”

“Well, you’re not going anywhere ever again, are you?”

Shiro clenched upon the hands that lay on his chest. He intertwined their fingers and relished in the warmth of his lover and mate, before he blinked away tears and drew in a deep breath, and – as he strove to collect his thoughts – he remembered Pidge showing him footage of Keith during his enforced absence. The younger man was inconsolable, taking _weeks_ before he would even bring himself to take over as Black, while Coran stole a position as Red, and to see him almost regressed to his teenage years broke Shiro. It tore at his heart.

There was an uncomfortable silence between them. The very nature of Voltron Alliance meant that any one of the Paladins could be injured at any time, always at war and always striving to fight for justice, and Shiro was reluctant to make a promise that couldn’t be guaranteed, especially when Keith’s fear of abandonment was at an all time high. He brought those soft hands to his lips and placed a chaste kiss on the palms of both.

“Keith, I won’t always be here,” admitted Shiro.

Keith winced at those words, even as he recognised them as truth. There would come a day – even if Shiro lived to an old age – where nature would finish what the Galra started, taking him hopefully in his sleep after a life well lived. Shiro opened his mouth to reassure his mate, but Keith shook his head before a word could be uttered. He continued to sit astride Shiro, simply stroking his lover’s hands with the backs of his thumbs. Shiro sighed.

He saw the bruises on Keith’s hips, left their by request, and he saw a slither of an old scar end just on the side of a rib above the bruise. Shiro knew that Keith sought for old marks to replace the old, always begging to be beaten or choked or other such things, and – while the counsellor had called such activities ‘healthy’, teaching things such as safe-words and traffic signals – Shiro still held the sneaking fear that it was more than a kink. He feared Keith sought to be punished or worse, but could not bring himself to say the words aloud.

“I will promise you one thing,” swore Shiro. “I will _never_ willingly leave you, and I will _never_ do anything to hurt you without your consent. I will do everything in my power to always be with you and keep you safe. Is that what’s been worrying you lately? I’m always here for you should you need to talk, Keith. Never forget that.”

“Look, can you just promise me you’ll never leave me?”

“Keith, I promised that right before the Galra took me.” Shiro gently lay down his lover, before he lay beside him and rested his head on his chest. “I just don’t want to ever lie to you, even if it’s with the best intentions. I respect you too much for that.”

He listened to Keith’s beating heart. There was a long sigh from Keith, who ran his fingers through Shiro’s long hair with gentle brushes, and they sat together in a companionable silence while the nightlights cast soft shadows about the wide bed. It was good to now be underneath thick sheets, with a warm body beside him, but Keith’s silence was concerning given the way that the topic at hand was so serious. Shiro pressed a chaste kiss to a firm chest, before he slid further up and buried his head in the crook of Keith’s neck. He asked:

“What’s brought this on, anyway?”

Keith sighed, as he slid his arms around Shiro. It was easy to forget that he was the omega in the relationship, especially with him so assertive and dominant, and – while Shiro wouldn’t change that behaviour for the world – a lingering fear wondered whether Keith was just indifferent to gender roles or still affected by his trauma. Shiro closed his eyes and allowed exhaustion to overtake him, until three small words shook him awake:

“I’m pregnant, Shiro.”

The words hung heavy around them. Shiro blinked away rapid confusion, before realisation dawned upon him and he choked on the air itself, until tears streamed down his face and he sat upright bent forward through retched coughs. He soon caught his breath, while he looked to Keith and saw his mate glaring back at him with a raised eyebrow. Shiro quirked a smile and nervously scratched at his neck, as he considered the words confessed.

It was difficult to process, especially when Keith exclusively topped aside from his heats, but – on the other hand – Shiro was able to perfectly time the pregnancy down to six weeks, based on their last rut and heat. He looked to Keith’s stomach, where he saw a tiny and almost imperceptible swell, and reached out slowly to touch upon where his unborn child dwelt. Shiro paused before he made contact. He looked to Keith and waited until there was a small nod of consent, before he reached down and touched the tiny mound.

“That – That’s great news,” chirped Shiro.

The skin was warm and somewhat tight, but nothing to indicate the life within. He spread out his fingers and laid back down, so that he could slide over and rest his head on that same stomach, and he hummed an old tune once sang to him by his mother. It was strange to think that there was a life within, but it also filled him with a sense of pride and completion that he never realised was missing from his life, and also a sense of terror as absolute responsibility fell upon his shoulders with a great weight. He looked to Keith and furrowed his brow.

“It is great news, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” murmured Keith. “I did always want a family. It’s just I’m still so young, and we’ve barely been together for a year, so what if . . . what if it doesn’t work out? You – You know what my childhood was like, Shiro. My own _father_ walked out on me, so what if our child ends up growing to hate me, too? What if I end up just becoming my father?”

“That’s why you have a mate, and one day –” Shiro took Keith’s hand and kissed at the engagement ring with a smile “– a husband. If you have worries, you need to share them with me, Keith. We can work through any given solution together.”

“I know, but the fears still linger, you know?”

“I know that you have choices here,” said Shiro. “If you want this child, I’ll be here to support you every step of the way. You don’t have to lose your identity when you become a parent, because you’re not losing a part of yourself, but just . . . gaining a new part. You weren’t the reason why your father left, but just that something was in him already.”

Keith turned his head away from Shiro. There was a familiar crinkle of the pillow case, while those soft fingers ran through Shiro’s long hair once again, and the sensation almost lulled him into a peaceful sleep, until he was forced to move up to eye-level with Keith. He waited for his lover to turn back in his direction, before he pressed their foreheads together and smiled to look deep into those blue-grey eyes. The pain in those eyes brought a wince to Shiro, who wanted nothing more than to make things better.

“He knew me for years,” whispered Keith.

“It was hardly as if he were a dedicated father before then.”

“No, but he _knew_ me.” Keith let out a shuddered breath. “If he can go nearly twelve years without building a single bond, just able to – to walk away . . . as if I were a _stranger_. . . how unlovable can I be? Is it my Galra blood? Will I pass that onto my child? Will they be unlovable, too? What if they hate me because I made them a monster?”

Shiro lay silent. The doubts and fears were too ingrained to be erased with a few kind words, and – were he to be honest – he couldn’t imagine how a parent could ever willingly walk away from a child that they invested such time and energy into raising alone. He barely knew his unborn child, who was likely no more than a collection of cells, something revealed for just a few minutes, and already he knew he would die for them. He loved them.

He knew that he could never bring back the father Keith lost, but he could use reason to get through to Keith and alleviate some of his concerns. Shiro reached up to place his hand on a soft cheek, while he kissed over and over on those lips with desperate and chaste pecks, before he blinked away tears and pulled Keith flush against him. He held his lover so tight that – for a brief minute – he feared for their unborn child, and so loosened his grip in order to pull back just enough to look at Keith and make a sincere promise to him.

“I love you,” said Shiro. “I never left you, either.”

“No, but you are a goof.”

Keith smiled and flicked Shiro on his forehead. Shiro laughed, before he leaned in to kiss his mate and relished in how Keith kissed him back, and soon – with both descending into friendly laughter – the kiss ended almost before it began. There was a fumble of clumsy touches and holds and kisses, as they simply basked in each other’s presence, and Keith even laughed with the occasional tickle, while Shiro allowed a tear to fall at finally finding some happiness with the man he so loved. Shiro finally held him close once again.

“You’re not alone in this,” promised Shiro.

“We’ll be a family?” Keith asked.

“No question about that.” Shiro pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “Even if you worry about being good enough, just know you’ll _always_ be good enough for me, and – if you trust me – then trust me when I tell you that you’ll be an excellent father.”

Keith smiled and took Shiro’s hand; he moved it to touch upon his stomach, where he rested his hand over the other, allowing them to touch upon their unborn child in a shared moment of intimacy, before the nightlights faded and darkness overcame the room. Shiro listened to his lover’s breathing, as they slowly prepared for sleep, and already he eagerly looked forward to the morning when they could tell the others. Keith asked in a whisper:

“A fresh start with a new family, right?”

“A fresh start,” assured Shiro.


End file.
